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http://www.archive.org/details/churchyardpoemsOOgrayrich 


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m  A  COUNTRY  CEUHCH  TAHD. 


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i>X     Jfj9,wMia»fe     txiiiiX* 


EGBERT  CARTER  &  BROTHERS. 


2  8  5    as  r  0  a  Ti  to  a  i) 

1853. 


GIFT 


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*0nntEnts. 


PAGB 
CRITICAL   OBSERVATIONS ....         5 

ELEGY   IN   A   COUxNTRY   CHURCHYARD ....      21 

ON   THE   SPRING .  ....      87 

ON   THE    DEATH    OF   A   FAVORITE   CAT 90 

ON   A    DISTANT   PROSPECT   OF   ETON   COLLEGE 93 

TO   ADVERSITY 99 

THE   PROGRESS   OF   POESY.       . 103 

THE    BARD 113 

FOR   MUSIC 124 

THE    FATAL    SISTKRS 131 

THE    DESCENT   OF    ODIN  137 

THE   TRIUMPHS    OF    OWEN 145 

THE   DEATH    OF    HOEL 149 

EPITAPH   ON   MRS.    CLARKE 152 

EPITAPH   ON   SIR   WILLIAM   WILLIAMS 154 

SONNET   ON   THE   DEATH   OF   MR.    WEST 156 


257 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAGS 

A    LONG    STORY 157 

TRANSLATION    OF    A    PASSAGE    FROM   STATIUS 169 

THE   ALLIANCE   OF   EDUCATION    AND   GOVERNMENT 171 

STANZAS   TO   MR.    BENTLEY 177 

SKETCH    OF    HIS   OWN    CHARACTER 180 

ON   TRE    PLEASURES   ARISING    FROM    VICISSITUDE 181 


CRITICAL  OBSERVATIONS. 


Amoxg-  the  most  finished  and  classical  compositions  in  English 
poetry,  we  must  certainly  rank  the  Poems  of  Thomas  Gray.  Few 
as  they  are,  the  mere  triflings  of  a  man  of  letters,  who  prided 
himself  less  on  being  a  scholar,  than  on  sustaining  the  easy,  des- 
ultory character  of  a  gentleman,  they  have  suflSced  to  place  his 
fame  above  all  danger  from  either  the  petulance  of  criticism,  or 
the  caprices  of  taste.  What  Dr.  Johnson  admitted  with  regard 
to  the  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard  may,  without  any  restric- 
tion, be  applied  to  his  works :  the  merit  of  their  author  is  now 
so  generally  appreciated,  the  public  suffrages  concurring  with  the 
competent  decision  of  criticism,  that  it  has  become  "vain  to 
blame,"  if  not  "  useless  to  praise  him." 

The  Elegy  is,  perhaps,  the  most  popular  poem  in  the  language. 
It  is  the  favorite  recitation  of  every  school-boy ;  and  he  who 
has  once  committed  it  to  memory  is  not  willing  ever  to  forget  it. 
Hackneyed  as  it  is,  and,  what  is  still  worse  for  the  effect  of  a 
poem,  imitated  and  parodied  as  it  has  been  times  without  num- 
ber, it  still  retains  its  original  power  to  call  up  those  pleasing 
and  pensive  associations  which  the  charm  of  the  sentiment,  and 


VI  CRITICAL   OBSERVATIONS. 

the  perfect  grace  of  the  versification,  are  adapted  to  excite.  "While 
his  other  productions  slowly  gained  the  public  attention,  the 
Elegy,  when  it  first  found  its  way  into  some  of  the  periodical 
publications,  was  read  and  copied  with  avidity;  and  upon  its 
being  subsequently  printed,  speedily  ran  through  eleven  editions. 
It  was  translated  into  Latin  verse  by  three  different  classical 
scholars,  and  five  have  translated  it  into  Greek.  Gray  himself 
expressed  surprise  at  the  rapidity  of  the  sale,  and  indignant  at  the 
neglect  with  which,  what  he  deemed  superior  productions,  his 
Odes,  had  been  received,  attributed  the  popularity  of  the  Elegy 
entirely  to  its  subject,  saying,  "that  the  public  would  have  re- 
ceived it  as  well  had  it  been  written  in  prose."  In  this  he  de- 
ceived himself.  The  Elegy  is  not  the  most  perfect  of  his  poems, 
nor  does  it  display  the  most  original  genius.  It  unquestionably 
owe(j_yn^,cb  »f  thft  i,?lfl^^'  it  immediately  excited  to  its  being 
accominodated,  in  its  turn  of  thought  and  moral,  to  the  capacity 
of  childhood,  and  to  the  universal  instinct  of  liuitian  nature.  But 
then,  it  is  in  imparting  this  permanent  eliarin  to  eoiuinonplace 
sentiments,  and  in  rescuing  back  to  poetry,  subjects  which  have 
become  unaffecting  from  their  mere  triteness  and  familiarity, 
that  the  power  of  real  genius  is  sometimes  most  unequivocally 
exhibited.  In  his  Elegy,  Gray  has,  in  this  respect,  achieved  what 
no  second  writer  has  been  able  to  succeed  in  doing;  and  his 
merit  cannot  be  shown  more  strikingly  by  any  circumstance 
than  by  the  vast  distance  at  which  he  has  been  able  to  place  all 
his  imitators. 

But  in  fact,  though  the  Elegy  is  less  elaborated  than  several  of 
his  poems,  there  are  other  causes  to  which  it  owes  its  deserved 
popularity.  This,  more  than  any  other  of  his  works,  was  probably 
written  under  the  influence  of  strong  feeling,  and  of  the  vivid 
impressions  of  the  beautiful  in  the  scenery  of  nature.     The  date 


CRITICAL   OBSERVATIONS.  vii 

of  its  composition,  although  it  was  not  finished  till  some  years 
after,  is  the  period  at  which  his  mind  was  overspread  with  mel- 
ancholy, in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  his  amiable  and  accomplished 
friend.  West.  The  scenes  amid  which  it  was  composed  were  well 
adapted  to  soothe  and  cherish  that  contemplative  sadness  which, 
when  the  wounds  of  grief  are  healing,  it  is  a  luxury  to  indulge. 
In  the  secluded  and  romantic  churchyard  where  his  remains  are, 
in  fulfilment  of  his  own  request,  deposited,  there  still  stands  a 
majestic  yew-tree,  which  would  seem  to  claim  on  the  ground  of 
high  probability,  to  be  viewed  as  the  very  one  described  by  the 
poet.  A  monument  consisting  of  a  large  stone  .sarcophagus  on  a 
lofty  base  erected  to  his  memory  in  Stoke  Park,  contiguous  to 
the  spot,  bears  record  that  he  is  buried  amid  the  scenes  which 
inspired  his  lays.  On  two  of  its  sides  are  inscribed  stanzas  taken 
from  the  Elegy ;  and  it  is  inevitable  to  believe,  that  the  "  rugged 
elms,"  the  "  yew-tree's  shade,"  the  "  wood  now  smiling  in  scorn," 
there  described,  are  the  same  as  form  the  picturesque  features  of 
the  landscape.  Besides  this,  there  are  expressions  in  the  poem 
so  minutely  accurate  as  descriptive  of  the  objects  and  sounds 
of  rural  nature,  that  nothing  but  actual  observation  could  have 
suggested  the  nice  selection  of  the  precise  epithets  by  which  they 
are  characteristically  discriminated.  These  delicate  touches  will 
scarcely  admit  of  being  formally  particularized;  but,  in  "the 
nodding  beech 

That  wreathes  its  old,  fantastic  root  so  high," 

in  "  the  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed,"  in  the  line 
describing  the  returning  herd,  and  in  the  drowsy  tinklings  of  the 
folded  sheep  falling  upon  the  ear  at  intervals,  so  difierent  from 
the  quick  busy  tinkling  of  sheep  in  the  field, — the  lover  of  nature 
will  not  fail  to  recognize  the  marks  of  actual  observation,  as  well 


Vlll  CRITICAL   OBSERVATIONS. 

as  of  exquisite  taste.     No  poem  is  richer  in  specimens  of  the 
picturesque  force  of  language. 

Before  the  Epitaph,  Mr.  Gray  originally  inserted  a  very  beau- 
tiful stanza,  which  was  printed  in  some  of  the  first  editions,  but 
afterwards  omitted,  because  he  thought  that  it  was  too  long  a 
parenthesis  in  this  place.  The  lines  however  are,  in  themselves, 
exquisitely  fine,  and  demand  preservation : 

"There  scatter'd  oft,  the  earliest  of  the  year, 
By  hands  unseen  are  showers  of  violets  found 
The  redbreast  loves  to  build  and  warble  there, 
And*little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground." 

The  following  stanza  was  also  written  by  Gray  for  this  poem, 
but  for  some  reason  subsequently  rejected. 

"Hark!   how  the  sacred  calm  that  breathes  around, 
Bids  every  fierce  tumultuous  passion  cease ; 
In  still  small  accents  whispering  from  the  ground, 
A  grateful  earnest  of  eternal  peace." 

The  odes  of  Gray  display  the  same  taste  and  feeling,  but  they 
are  certainly  in  a  more  elevated  strain  of  composition.  There 
is  little  propriety  in  the  neatly  turned  compliment  which  ascribes 

"A  Pindar's  rapture  [to]  the  lyre  of  Gray." 

Gray  has  written  two  poems,  which  he  designates  Pindaric  Odes. 
These  constitute  nearly  the  whole  of  his  resemblance  to  Pindar. 
The  productions  of  genius,  at  periods  in  the  history  of  society  so 
remote,  can  seldom  admit  of  being  brought  into  comparison ;  and 
Pindar  is  of  all  ancient  bards,  perhaps,  the  most  inaccessible  to 
either  rivals  or  imitators. 
The    "Long  Story"  is  an  exquisite   jeu  cfesprit:    its  elegant 


CEITICAL   OBSERVATIONS.  IX 

playfulness  reminds  us  of  the  best  productions  in  the  same  style 
of  Cowper  ;  and  lets  us  more  than  almost  any  other  of  his  poems, 
into  the  secret  of  Gray's  native  character.  Lord  Orford  is  said 
to  have  asserted,  that  Gray  never  wrote  anything  easily  but 
"things  of  humor," — that  "humor  was  his  natural  and  original 
turn."  Without  subscribing  exactly  to  the  perfect  correctness  of 
this  opinion,  we  may  gather  from  his  Letters,  that  he  had  that 
natural  vivacity  of  temper,  which,  added  to  a  keen  perception  of 
the  ridiculous,  and  a  naive  manner  of  expression,  would  incline 
him,  in  his  familiar  moments,  to  this  unbending  of  the  faculties. 
In  his  conversation,  too,  we  are  told.  Gray  was  apt  to  be  satirical. 
With  what  zest  he  luxuriated  in  the  utmost  poignancy  of  sar- 
casm and  ridicule  when  he  chose  to  give  license  to  his  pen,  is, 
indeed,  sufficiently  evinced  by  the  three  lampoons  which  are  now 
incorporated  with  his  Odes  and  his  Elegy.  These  would  by  no 
means  bear  out  the  assertion  that  satire  was  his  forte,  but  they 
concur  to  show  that  it  was  a  species  of  writing  in  which  his  taste 
did  not  forbid  him  to  indulge,  and  in  which  his  talents  would 
doubtless  have  enabled  him  to  excel.  In  his  correspondence, 
however,  he  is  only  playful ;  and  if  his  humor  does  not  often 
sparkle  into  wit,  it  still  more  rarely  degenerates  into  the  malignity 
of  satire.    But  we  are  anticipating  our  sketch  of  his  character. 

Thomas  Gray  was  born  in  London,  Dec.  26,  1716.  He  re- 
ceived his  education  at  Eton,  under  Mr.  Antrobus,  his  maternal 
uncle,  then  one  of  his  assistant  masters  :  it  was  here  that  he  con- 
tracted a  friendship  with  Horace  Walpole  and  the  son  of  West, 
Lord  Chancellor  of  Ireland.  From  Eton  he  went  to  Cambridge, 
and  was  entered  a  pensioner  at  Peter-house  in  1734 ;  but  having 
no  taste  for  mathematical  studies,  he  did  not  become  a  candidate 
for  academical  honors.     Both  while  at  Eton,  and  during  his  res- 


X  CEITICAL   OBSERVATIONS. 

idence  at  Cambridge,  he  was  indebted  for  his  entire  support  to 
the  affection  and  firmness  of  his  mother,  who,  out  of  her  share 
of  the  proceeds  of  a  trade  in  which  her  little  capital  was  vested 
previously  to  her  marriage,  in  partnership  with  her  sister,  in  what 
was  then  called  an  India  warehouse,  (the  profits  of  which  were 
fortunately  secured  to  her  sole  benefit  by  articles  of  agreement,) 
discharged  all  her  own  personal  expenses,  as  well  as  those  en- 
tailed by  her  children.  Gray's  father,  a  man  of  the  most  violent 
passions,  and,  judging  from  his  brutal  treatment  of  his  wife,  of 
unprincipled  character,  not  only  refused  all  assistance,  but  even 
endeavored  to  force  her  to  give  up  the  shop,  on  which  she  de- 
pended for  the  means  of  procuring  a  liberal  education  for  her 
son,  in  order,  as  was  supposed,  to  gain  possession  of  her  money. 
To  the  exemplary  presence  of  mind  of  his  admirable  mother, 
Gray  had  already  owed  the  preservation  of  his  life.  All  the  rest 
of  her  children  died  in  their  infancy  from  suffocation,  produced, 
we  are  told,  by  fulness  of  blood.  Thomas  was  attacked  with  a 
paroxysm  of  a  similar  kind,  which  was  removed  by  his  mother's 
promptly  opening  a  vein  with  her  own  hand.*  She  lived  to  see 
her  affectionate  exertions  and  solicitudes  well  repaid,  to  witness, 
the  rising  fame,  and  to  receive  the  grateful  attentions  of  that 
only  surviving  son.  She  died  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven ;  and,  after 
her  decease,  which  took  place  in  1753,  Gray,  says  Mr.  Mason, 
"seldom  mentioned  his  mother  without  a  sigh." 

Gray  left  Cambridge  in  1738,  with  the  intention  of  applying 
himself  to  the  study  of  the  law ;  but  he  was  easily  induced  to 
relinquish  this  design  on  receiving  an  invitation  to  accompany 
his  friend  Mr.  Walpole  to  the  continent.    They  proceeded  together 

*  These  facts  are  stated  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Mitford,  in  his  Life  of  Gray, 
prefixed  to  the  quarto  edition  of  his  works,  London,  1816. 


CKITICAL   OBSERVATIONS.  XI 

through  France  to  Italy,  and  passed  the  winter  of  1739-40  at 
Florence :  they  afterwards  visited  Eome  and  Naples,  and  were 
proceeding  to  explore  other  parts  of  that  classical  region ;  but 
at  Reggio,  an  unfortunate  difference  took  place  between  the  two 
friends,  occasioned,  according  to  "Walpole's  own  statement,  by 
Gray's  being  *'too  serious  a  companion"  for  a  dissipated  young 
man,  just  let  loose  from  the  restraints  of  college.  It  is  probable 
that  Walpole's  irregularities  drew  from  his  graver  friend  remon- 
strances in  too  indignantly  severe,  perhaps  too  authoritative  a 
tone  to  be  brooked  with  temper ;  and  they  were  resented  in  terms 
which  Gray  could  never  quite  forgive.  A  separation  took  place, 
and  Gray  pursued  his  travels  alone  to  "Venice,  where  he  spent 
some  weeks,  and  returned  to  England  in  September,  1741. 

Two  months  after  his  arrival,  his  father  died,  and  his  widow, 
left  with  a  scanty  income,  retired  to  the  house  of  one  of  her  sisters, 
Mrs.  Rogers,  at  Stoke,  near  Windsor.  Gray  now  returned  to 
Cambridge,  the  conveniences  of  a  college  life  being  better  suited 
than  an  independent  establishment,  to  the  narrowed  state  of  liis 
finances.  Here,  in  1742,  he  was  admitted  to  the  degree  of  bachelor 
in  the  civil  law.  Cambridge  had  as  a  residence  no  attractions 
for  him  beyond  its  literary  advantages.  About  this  period,  he 
first  sedulously  applied  himself  to  poetical  composition.  He  had 
no  serious  pursuit  to  call  forth  the  ardor  of  his  mind ;  and,  "  alas  I" 
he  says  in  a  letter  to  his  friend  West,  "alas  for  one  who  has 
nothing  to  do  but  to  amuse  himself!"  His  Ode  to  Spring  was 
written  early  in  June,,  during  a  visit  to  his  mother  at  Stoke.  He 
addressed  it  to  that  same  accomplished  correspondent;  but  it 
never  reached  him.  West  was  at  the  time  numbered  with  the 
dead,  his  tender  frame  having  sunk  beneath  the  pressure  of  sick- 
ness and  domestic  sorrows.  The  Ode  on  the  prospect  of  Eton,  the 
Hymn  to  Adversity,  and  the  Elegy  in  a   Country  Churchyard, 


XU  CRITICAL   OBSERVATIONS. 

were  written  soon  after,  evidently  under  the  influence  of  the 
melancholy  feelings  inspired  by  the  loss  of  his  early  friend.  The 
Ode  first  appeared  in  1747,  published  by  Dodsley.  The  Elegy 
was  not  published  till  1750,  when,  having  found  its  way  into 
the  magazines,  the  author  requested  Mr.  Walpole,  with  whom 
he  now  again  corresponded  on  familiar  terms,  to  put  it  into  the 
bands  of  Dodsley. 

The  Ode  on  the  Progress  of  Poesy,  and  the  Bard,  were  written 
in  1755.  The  latter,  however,  remained  for  some  time  in  an  un- 
finished state,  till  his  accidentally  seeing  a  blind  harper  performing 
on  a  Welsh  harp,  "  again,"  as  he  tells  us,  "  put  his  ode  in  motion, 
and  brought  it  to  a  conclusion."  In  1757,  Gray  had  the  honor  of 
declining  the  ofiice  of  poet  laureate  on  the  death  of  Gibber.  "  The 
oflSce,"  he  says  in  a  letter  to  Mason,  "has  always  humbled  the 
possessor  hitherto : — if  he  were  a  poor  writer,  by  making  him 
more  conspicuous ;  and  if  he  were  a  good  one,  by  setting  him  at 
war  with  the  little  fry  of  his  own  profession ;  for  there  are  poets 
little  enough  even  to  envy  a  poet  laureate."  The  oflSce  was  ac- 
cepted by  Whitehead. 

In  January,  1759,  the  British  Museum  was  opened  to  the  public, 
and  Gray,  during  three  subsequent  years,  continued  to  reside  in 
London  for  the  purpose  of  daily  repairing  to  its  library,  employing 
the  greater  part  of  his  time  in  reading  and  transcribing.  He 
visited  Scotland  in  the  summer  of  1765,  where  he  became  ac- 
quainted with  Dr.  Beattie,  in  whom  he  found,  to  use  his  own  ex- 
pression, "  a  poet,  a  philosopher,  and  a  good  man."  In  1768,  Gray 
received,  without  solicitation,  through  the  favor  of  the  Duke  of 
Grafton,  the  appointment  of  Professor  of  Modern  Languages  and 
History  at  the  University  of  Cambridge ;  a  place  of  some  emolu- 
ment, for  which,  six  years  before,  he  had  been  "  spirited  up"  to 
apply  to  Lord  Bute,  on  the  death  of  Mr.  Turner,  but  without 


CEITICAL   OBSERVATIONS.  XIU 

success.  On  the  Duke's  installation  into  the  chancellorship  of 
the  University  in  the  following  year,  Gray  composed  the  Ode 
for  Music,  which  was  performed  in  the  senate-house  on  the 
occasion. 

It  was  his  intention,  on  obtaining  the  professorship,  to  read 
lectures ;  but  the  declining  state  of  his  health,  and  his  excessive 
fastidiousness  with  regard  to  his  own  compositions,  concurred  to 
prevent  his  ever  realizing  this  design.  His  rigid  abstemiousness 
could  not  avert  the  attacks  of  hereditary  gout,  to  which  he  now 
became  increasingly  subject,  and  which  left  behind  a  painful  de- 
gree of  debility,  and  an  habitual  depression  of  spirits.  The  un- 
easiness he  felt  at  holding  the  professorship  without  discharging 
its  duties,  had  at  one  time  made  him  resolve  upon  resigning  the 
office.  But  he  did  not  hold  it  long.  On  the  24th  of  July,  1771, 
while  at  dinner  in  the  college  hall,  he  was  seized  with  a  sudden 
nausea  and  faintness,  symptomatic  of  an  attack  of  gout  in  the 
stomach.  A  few  days  after,  he  suifered  a  repetition  of  the  at- 
tack with  aggravated  violence,  followed  by  frequent  convulsion 
fits,  and   on  the  30th  of  July,  he  expired  in   his   fifty-fifth   year. 

The  account  of  Gray,  given  by  one  of  his  contemporaries,  to 
the  general  accuracy  of  which  all  his  biographers  have  sub- 
scribed, represents  him  as  "  perhaps  the  most  learned  man  in 
Europe."  He  was  equally  acquainted  with  the  elegant  and  the 
profound  parts  of  science,  and  that  not  superficially,  but  thorough- 
ly. He  knew  every  branch  of  history,  both  natural  and  civil; 
had  read  all  the  original  historians  of  England,  France,  and  Italy ; 
and  was  a  great  antiquary.  He  was  deeply  read  in  Dugdale, 
Hearne,  and  Spelman,  and  was  a  complete  master  of  heraldry. 
His  skill  in  zoology  and  entomology  was  extremely  accurate ; 
and  during  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  he  found  time  to  resume 
the  botanical  studies  of  his  early  years.      His  taste  iu  music,  we 


Xir  CRITICAL   OBSERVATIONS. 

are  told,  was  excellent,  being  formed  on  the  study  of  tlie  great 
Italian  masters  contemporary  with  Pergolesi,  and  he  performed  on 
the  harpsichord.  In  painting  he  was  a  connoisseur,  and  architecture 
at  one  time  received  a  considerable  portion  of  his  studious  atten- 
tion. But  classical  literature  was  his  favorite  pursuit :  to  this  he 
applied  with  constant,  unwoaried  assiduity ;  and  he  is  generally 
allowed  the  merit  of  having  been  a  prctfound  as  well  as  an  elegant 
scholar.  The  notes  upon  various  Greek  authors,  which  he  has  left 
behind  him,  bear  the  marks  of  patient  labor  and  accurate  judgment. 
His  criticisms  are  replete  with  philosophical  discrimination,  and 
discover,  like  everything  else  that  proceeded  from  his  pen,  the 
most  refined  and  delicate  taste. 

Gray  is  described  as  in  person  small,  but  well  made,  very  nice 
and  exact  in  his  dress,  in  conversation  lively,  and  possessing  a  sin- 
gular facihty  of  expression.  By  his  intimate  friends  he  appears  to 
have  been  tenderly  esteemed.  To  strangers  he  observed  a  reserve 
and  precision  of  deportment  which  seemed  to  bespeak  the  reverse 
of  sociability,  while  his  polished  language,  which  might  be  mis- 
taken by  them  for  a  studied  style,  together  with  his  effeminate  and 
what  were  thought  finical  manners,  subjected  him  to  the  charge 
of  affectation.  His  fastidiousness  too  would  sometimes  betray 
itself  in  the  visible  expression  of  contempt ;  and  he  was  satirical ; 
but  we  do  not  learn  that  either  his  contempt  or  his  sarcasm  was 
ever  bestowed  inappropriately,  or  without  just  provocation.  His 
general  conduct  was  marked  by  urbanity  and  cheerfulness ;  his 
mind  never  contracted  "  the  rust  of  pedantry."  Dr.  Beattie  says, 
"he  had  none  of  the  airs  of  either  a  scholar  or  a  poet."  He  was 
capable  too  of  warm  friendship,  and  such  a  man  could  not  be  an 
unamiable  man.  On  the  contrary,  he  is  spoken  of  as  an  ornament 
to  society. 

It  is  charged  upon  his  character  as  a  weakness,  that,  like  Con- 


CRITICAL   OBSERVATIONS.  XV 

greve,  while  he  himself  owed  all  his  distinction  to  his  mental 
endowments  and  literary  attainments,  he  "  could  not  bear  to  be 
considered  only  as  a  man  of  letters ;  and  though  without  birth, 
or  fortune,  or  station,  his  desire  was  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  private 
independent  gentleman  who  read  for  his  amusement."  There  is  a 
passage  in  one  of  his  letters  which  partly  confirms,  and  at  the 
same  time  throws  some  light  on  this  representation.  "  To  find 
one's  self  business,"  he  writes,  "  I  am  persuaded  is  the  great  art 
of  life.  I  am  never  so  angry  as  when  I  hear  my  acquaintance 
wishing  they  had  been  bred  to  some  poking  profession,  or  em- 
ployed in  some  office  of  drudgery;  as  if  it  were  pleasanter  to 
be  at  the  command  of  other  people,  than  at  one's  own ;  and  as 
if  they  could  not  go,  unless  they  were  wound  up;  yet  I  know 
and  feel  what  they  mean  by  this  complaint ;  it  proves  that  some 
spirit,  something  of  genius  (more  than  common)  is  required  to 
teach  a  man  how  to  employ  himself."  Is  it  more  than  candid 
to  conclude  that  his  unwillingness  to  be  regarded  as  a  man  of 
letters,  arose  from  that  dislike  of  ostentatious  pretension  which 
distinguishes  the  man  of  thorough  learning  from  the  pedant,  while 
what  he  saw  in  the  University  of  professional  vulgarity  made 
him  set  the  more  value  on  the  character  of  the  gentleman  ?  And 
in  this  who  will  say  that  Gray  was  not  right? 


£  p  i  t  ^  p  I] 


MK.  gray's  monument 

IN    WESTMINSTER    ABBEY. 

BY   MR.  MaSuN. 

No  more  the  Grecian  Muse  imrival'd  reigns, 
To  Britain  let  the  nations  homage  pay  ! 

She  boasts  a  Homer's  fire  in  Milton's  strains, 
A  Pindar's  rapture  in  the  lyre  of  Gray. 


^llosttatiDiis. 


ENGRAVED  BY  R.   S.   GILBERT,   PHILADELPHIA. 


8TANZA8.         PAINTERS. 

I.  G.  Barret. 

n.  Copley  Fielding. 

m.  J.  Constable,  R.  A, 

IV.  G.  Cattermolk. 

V.  J.  Constable,  R.  A. 

VL  T.  Stothard,  R.  a, 

VII.  P.  Dewint. 

vni.  W.  Boxall. 

IX.  S.  A.  Hart,  A.  R  A. 

X.  G.  Cattermole. 

XI.  J,  Constable,  R.  A, 

xn.  Thomas  Landseer. 

XIII.  Frank  Howard. 

XIV.  W.  Westall,  a.  R.  a. 
XV.  A,  W.  Calloott,  R,  A, 

XVI.  J.  H.  Nixon. 


stanzas.      painters. 

XVII.  A.  Cooper,  R.  A. 

XVm.  W.  MULREADY,  R.  A. 

XIX.  J.  W.  Wright. 

XX.  Charles  Landseer. 

XXI.  J.  J.  Chalon,  a.  R,  a. 

XXII.  H.  Howard,  R.  A. 
xiou.  R.  Westall,  R.  A. 
XXIV.  J.  W.  Wright. 

XXV.  Copley  Fielding. 

xxvL  G.  Barret. 

xxvn.  Thales  Fielding. 

xxvni.  0.  R.  Stanley, 

XXIX.  W.  Collins,  R.  A. 

XXX.  Frank  Howard, 

XXXI.  H.  Howard,  R.  A. 
xxxn.  S.  A.  Hart,  A.  R.  A. 

2* 


The  vignette  on  the  title-page  is  a  view  of  Stoke-Poges  church, 
Buckinghamshire,  the  churchyard  of  which  is  the  scene  of  this  cele- 
brated poem,  and  near  which  is  a  monument  erected  to  the  memory 
of  Gray  by  the  late  John  Penn,  Esq.,  of  Stoke  Park.  The  drawing, 
by  John  Constable,  Esq.,  R.  A.,  has  been  kindly  offered  to  the  editor 
since  the  publication  of  the  former  edition,  and  is  in  the  possession 
of  Samuel  Rogers,  Esq. 

The  tomb  of  the  Poet  is  at  lihe  south-east  corner  of  the  chancel, 
near  that  of  his  aunt,  Mrs.  Mar;^   Antrobus. 


The  great  improvement  that  has  taken  place,  within 
a  few  years,  in  the  art  of  Engraving  on  Wood,  as  well  as 
its  general  adoption,  in  some  measure  superseding  the  use 
of  Copper  and  Steel,  led  to  the  present  attempt  to  apply 
this  mode  of  embellishment  to  a  Poem  of  such  general 
and  deserved  celebrity,  and  which  appeared  to  aflford  the 
greatest  scope  for  the  talents  of  the  artist. 

The  Elegy  itself  has  long  been  universally  acknow- 
ledged as  one  of  the  most  elegant  compositions  which  the 
English  language  ever  produced. 

The  following  testimony  to  its  great  merit  is  not, 
perhaps,  generally  known,  and  will  not  here  be  inappro- 
priately introduced. 

General  Wolfe  received  a  copy  on  the  eve  of  the 
assault  on  Quebec ;  he  was  so  struck  with  its  beauty,  that 
he  is  said  to  have  exclaimed,  th'at  he  would  have  preferred 
being  its  author,  to  that  of  being  the  victor  in  the  pro- 
jected attack  in  which  he  so  gloriously  lost  his  life. 


XX 

The  favour  with  which  this  edition  may  be  received, 
will  be  entirely  owing  to  the  talents  of  the  eminent  artists 
who  have  so  kindly  seconded  the  Editor,  if  he  may  apply 
such  a  word,  in  his  wish  to  produce  a  specimen  of  beau- 
tiful and  appropriate  illustration  in  this  branch  of  the 
Fine  Arts ;  and  to  them  he  begs  to  return  his  sincerest 
thanks. 

JOHN  MARTIN. 

LOKSORf 
Oct,  10th,  1834 


The  Curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day ; 

The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea ; 
The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 

And  leaves  the  w^orld  to  darkness  and  to  me. 


J^)t 


Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 

Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds : 


rifJ: 


Save  that,  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower, 

The  moping  Ow""  does  to  the  Moon  complaiu 

Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 


IxV 


Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 

Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 

Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid, 

The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 


V 


The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  Morn, 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 

The  cock's  shrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 

No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 


\\j 


(*>'■' 


Vi 


For  them,  no  more  the  blazing  hearth  shall  burn, 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care: 

No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 

Or  climb  his  knees,  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 


UJrJi 


Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield ; 

Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glebe  has  broke ; 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  a-field  ! 

How  bow'd  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  stroke ! 


VitM 


Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 

Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obscure  ; 

Nor  Grandeur  hear,  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor. 


^# 


^1 


mry^ 


«x 


The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power, 

And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth,  e'er  gave, 

Await,  alike,  th'  inevitable  hour  ; — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 


W:M]'':m^ 


X 


Nor  you,  ye  proud !  impute  to  these  the  fault, 
If  memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise ; 

Where,  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fretted  vault. 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 


xr- 


Can  storied  urn,  or  animated  bust, 

Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  tieeting  breath? 
Can  Honour's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust  ? 

Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  Death  ? 


XKr- 


Perhaps,  in  this  neglected  spot,  is  laid 

Some  heart,  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire ; 

Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  sway'd, 
Or  wak'd  to  ecstasy  the  li.ving  lyre. 


But  Knowledge,  to  their  eyes,  her  ample  page. 

Rich  with  the  spoils  of  Time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 

Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 

And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 


X»l? 


Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 

The  dark  unfathom'd  caves  of  ocean  bear  , 

Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 


XV 


Some  village  Hampden,  that,  with  dauntless  breast. 

The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood ; 
Some  mute,  inglorious  Milton, — here  may  rest ; 

Some  Cromwell,  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 


/■K>f>T^.     ~^*»^c«.r^ 


%V1i 


Th'  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command  ; 

The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise  ; 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 

And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 


xi^r-t- 


Their  lot  forbad  :  nor  circumscrib'd  alone 

Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confin'd ; 

Forbad  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind. 


X17J3BJ 


The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  truth  to  hide  ; 

To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  shame ; 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride, 

With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame* 


XiiX 


Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learn'd  to  stray ; 

Along  the  cool,  sequester' d  vale  of  life, 

They  kept  the  noiseless  tenour  of  their  way. 


x\ 


yet  e'en  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect, 
Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 

With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  deck'd, 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 


XX£ 


Their  name,  their  years,  spelt  by  th'  unlettered  Muse, 
The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply ; 

And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews. 
That  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 


XXJEir 


For  who,  to  dumb  Forgetfulness  a  prey, 

This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resign'd ; 

Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day. 

Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind  ? 


„V     'M 


XXJIJrJ: 


Oii  some  fond  breast  the  parting  soul  relies ; 

Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 
E'en  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries; 

E'en  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 


XXCT 


For  thee,  who,  mindful  of  th'  unhonour'd  dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate ; 

If,  'chance,  by  lonely  Contemplation  led, 

Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate ; 


XXV 


Haply,  some  hoary- headed  swain  may  say  : 

"  Oft  have  we  seen  him,  at  the  peep  of  dawn, 

Brushing,  with  hasty  steps,  the  dews  away. 
To  meet  the  Sun  upon  the  upland  lawn. 


XXVJJ 


"  There,  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech. 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high, 

His  listless  lengtk,  at  noontide,  would  he  stretch, 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 


WVrT 


"  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling,  as  in  scorn. 

Muttering  his  wayward  fancies,  he  would  rove ; 

Now  drooping,  woeful,  wan,  like  one  forlorn. 

Or  craz'd  with  care,  or  cross'd  in  hopeless  lave. 


sxvimt 


**  One  morn,  I  miss'd  him  on  the  'customed  hill. 

Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favourite  tree ; 
Another  came, — nor  yet  beside  the  rill. 

Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood,  was  he ; 


XXfiX 


"  The  next,  with  dirges  due,  in  sad  array. 

Slow  through  the  church-way  path  we  saw  him  borne. 
Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 

Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn." 


Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth, 

A  youth,  to  fortune  and  to  fame  unknown ; 

Fair  Science  frown'd  not  on  his  humble  birth. 
And  Melancholy  mark'd  him  for  her  own. 


XXXK 


Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere ; 

^.■■.    .. 

Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send : 
He  gave  to  Misery  all  he  had — a  tear ; 

He  gain'd  from  Heaven  ('twas  all  he  wish'd)  a  friend. 


XXvXJIJ: 


Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode : 


No  further  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 


(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 


ODES. 


©If)  i\}e  SpHog. 


Lo  !   where  the  rosy  bosom'd  Hours, 

Fair  Venus'  train,  appear. 
Disclose  the  long  expecting  flowers, 

And  wake  the  purple  year  ! 
The  x\ttic  warbler  paurs  her  throat, 
Responsive  to  the  cuckoo's  note, 

The  untaught  harmony  of  Spring : 
While,  whispering  pleasure  as  they  fly, 
Cool  Zephyrs  through  the  clear  blue  sky 

Their  gather'd  fragrance  fling. 

Where'er  the  oaks  thick  branches  stretch 

A  broader  browner  shade, 
Where'er  the  rude  and  moss-grown  beech 

O'ercanopies  the  glade, 


ON  THE   SPRING. 

Beside  some  water's  rushy  brink 
With  me  the  muse  shall  sit,  and  think 

(At  ease  reclined  in  rustic  state) 
How  vain  the  ardor  of  the  crowd, 
How  low,  how  little  are  the  proud, 

How  indigent  the  great ! 

Still  is  the  toiling  hand  of  Care ; 

The  panting  herds  repose  : 
Yet  hark,  how  through  the  peopled  air 

The  busy  murmur  glows  ! 
The  insect-youth  are  on  the  wing, 
Eager  to  taste  the  honied  spring, 

And  float  amid  the  liquid  noon  : 
Some  lightly  o'er  the  current  skim, 
Some  show  their  gayly  gilded  trim 

Quick-glancing  to  the  sun. 

To  Contemplation's  sober  eye 
Such  is  the  race  of  Man : 


ON   THE   SPRING.  89 

And  they  that  creep,  and  they  that  fly, 

Shall  end  where  they  began. 
Alike  the  Busy  and  the  Gray 
But  flutter  through  life's  little  day. 

In  Fortune's  varying  colors  dress'd  : 
Brush'd  by  the  hand  of  rough  Mischance, 
Or  chill'd  by  Age,  their  airy  dance 

They  leave,  in  dust  to  rest. 

Methinks  I  hear,  in  accents  low, 

The  sportive  kind  reply : 
Poor  moralist !    and  what  art  thou  ? 

A  solitary  fly  ! 
Thy  joys  no  glittering  female  meets, 
No  hive  hast  thou  of  hoarded  sweets, 

No  painted  plumage  to  display  : 

On  hasty  wings  thy  youth  is  flown  ; 

Thy  sun  is  set,  thy  spring  is  gone — 

We  frolic  while  'tis  May. 
8* 


0r)  the  Si^^il]   of  ^  F^b^Hte  G^f, 

DROWNED    IN    A    TUB    OF    GOLD    FISHES. 

'TvvAS  on  a  lofty  vase's  side, 
Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed 

The  azure  flowers  that  blow  ; 
Demurest  of  the  tabby  kind, 
The  pensive  Selima,  reclined, 

Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 

Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared ; 
The  fair  round  face,  the  snowy  beard, 

The  velvet  of  her  paws, 
Her  coat,  that  with  the  tortoise  vies, 
Her  ears  of  jet,  and  emerald  eyes, 

She  saw ;    and  purr'd  applause. 


DEATH  OF  A  FAVORITE   CAT. 

Still  had  she  gazed ;    but  'midst  the  tide 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide, 

The  Genii  of  the  stream  : 
Their  scaly  armor's  Tyrian  hue 
Through  richest  purple  to  the  view 

Betray'd  a  golden  gleam. 

The  hapless  nymph  with  wonder  saw  ; 
A  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw, 

With  many  an  ardent  wish, 
She  stretch'd,  in   vain,  to  reach  the  prize 
What  female  heart  can  gold  despise  'J 

What  Cat's  averse  to  fish '? 

Presumptuous  maid  !    with  looks  intent 
Again  she  stretch'd,  again  she  bent. 

Nor  knew  the  gulf  between. 
(Malignant  Fate  sat  by  and  smiled). 
The  slippery  verge  her  feet  beguiled, 

She  tumbled  headlong  in. 


92  DEATH   OF   A   FAYOEITE   CAT. 

Eight  times  emergiDg  from  the  flood; 
She  mew'd  to  every  watery  God, 

Some  speedy  aid  to  send. 
No  Dolphin  came,  no  Nereid  stirr'd : 
Nor  cruel  Tom^  nor  Susan  heard. 

A  favorite  has  no  friend  ! 

From  hence  ye  beauties,  undeceived. 
Know,  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieved, 

And  be  with  caution  bold. 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wandering  eyes 
And  heedless  hearts,  is  lawful  prize, 

Nor  all  that  glisters,  gold. 


00  (|  ^i^i^^t  ^i-o^peef  of  £loo  College. 

'AvOpuTTog,  LKavi)  TzpocpaaLq  elg  to  Svarvxslv. 

MENANDUR. 

Ye  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers, 

That  crown  the  watery  glade, 
Where  grateful  science  still  adores 

Her  Henry's*  holy  shade ; 
And  ye,  that  from  the  stately  brow 
Of  Windsor's  heights  the'  expanse  below 

Of  grove,  of  lawn,  of  mead  survey, 
Whose  turf,  whose  shade,  whose  flowers  among 
Wanders  the  hoary  Thames  along 

His  silver-winding  way : 

♦  King  Henry  the  Sixth,  founder  of  the  College. 


94  ON   A   DISTANT   PROSPECT 

Ah,  happy  hills  !    ah,  pleasing  shade  ! 

Ah,  fields  beloved  in  vain  ! 
Where  once  my  careless  childhood  stray'd, 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain  ! 
I  feel  the  gales  that  from  ye  blow 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow, 

As  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing, 
My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  soothe. 
And,  redolent  of  joy  and  youth. 

To  breathe  a  second  spring. 

Say,  father  Thames,  for  thou  hast  seen 

Full  many  a  sprightly  race 
Disporting  on  thy  margent  green, 

The  paths  of  pleasure  trace  ; 
Who  foremost  now  delight  to  cleave 
With  pliant  arm,  thy  glassy  wave  ? 

The  captive  linnet  which  enthral  ? 
What  idle  progeny  succeed 
To  chase  the  rolling  circle's  speed 

Or  urge  the  flying  ball  i 


OF  ETON   COLLEGE.  95 

While  some,  on  earnest  business  bentj 

Their  murmuring  labors  ply 
'Gainst  graver  hours  that  bring  constraint 

To  sweeten  liberty : 
Some  bold  adventurers  disdain 
The  limits  of  their  little  reign, 

And  unknown  regions  dare  descry : 
Still  as  they  run  they  look  behind, 
They  hear  a  voice  in  every  wind, 

And  snatch  a  fearful  joy. 

Gray  hope  is  theirs  by  fancy  fed, 

Less  pleasing  when  possess'd  ; 
The  tear  forgot  as  soon  as  shed, 

The  sunshine  of  the  breast : 
Theirs  buxom  health,  of  rosy  hue, 
Wild  wit,  invention  ever  new. 

And  lively  cheer,  of  vigor  born  ! 
The  thoughtless  day,  the  easy  night. 
The  spirits  pure,  the  slumbers  light. 

That  fly  the'  approach  of  morn. 


96  ON  A  DISTANT   PROSPECT 

Alas  !    regardless  of  their  doom, 

The  little  victims  play ; 
No  sense  have  they  of  ills  to  come, 

Nor  care  beyond  to-day : 
Yet  see,  how  all  around  'em  wait 
The  ministers  of  human  fate, 

And  black  Misfortune's  baleful  train  ! 
Ah,  show  them  where  in  ambush  stand, 
To  seize  their  prey  the  murderous  band  ! 

Ah,  tell  them  they  are  men  ! 

These  shall  the  fury  Passions  tear, 

The  vultures  of  the  mind. 
Disdainful  Anger,  pallid  Fear, 

And  Shame  that  skulks  behind  ; 
Or  pining  Love  shall  waste  their  youth, 
Or  Jealousy,  with  rankling  tooth, 

That  inly  gnaws  the  secret  heart ; 
And  Envy  wan,  and  faded  Care, 
Grim-visaged  comfortless  Despair, 

And  Sorrow's  piercing  dart. 


OF   ETTON   COLLEGE.  97 

Ambition  this  shall  tempt  to  rise, 

Then  whirl  the  wretch  from  high, 
To  bitter  Scorn  a  sacrifice, 

And  grinning  Infamy. 
The  stings  of  Falsehood  those  shall  try 
And  hard  Unkindness'  altered  eye, 

That  mocks  the  tear  it  forced  to  flow  : 
And  keen  Remorse,  with  blood  defiled. 
And  moody  Madness  laughing  wild 

Amid  severest  woe. 

Lo  !    in  the  vale  of  years  beneath, 

A  grisly  troop  are  seen. 
The  painful  family  of  Death, 

More  hideous  than  their  queen  : 
This  racks  the  joints,  this  fires  the  veins. 
That  every  laboring  sinew  strains, 

Those  in  the  deeper  vitals  rage : 
Lo  !    Poverty,  to  fill  the  band, 
That  numbs  the  soul  with  icy  hand, 

And  slow  consuming  Age. 


98  ETON   COLLEGE. 

To  each  his  sufferings  :    all  are  men, 

Condemn'd  alike  to  groan  ; 
The  tender  for  another's  pain, 

The'  unfeeling  for  his  own. 
Yet,  ah  !    why  should  they  know  their  fate, 
Since  sorrow  never  comes  too  late, 

And  happiness  too  swiftly  flies? 
Thought  would  destroy  their  paradise. 
No  more  ; — where  ignorance  is  bliss, 

'Tis  folly  to  be  wise. 


Jo  ^5bel^§iflj. 


-Xijva- 


Tdv  (^povelv  jSpoTovg  666- 
aavra,  rov  ttuOel  fiaog 
Qevra  avplug  kx^i-v. 

ASCHYLUS. 


DaughtePw  of  Jove,  relentless  power, 
Thou  tamer  of  the  human  breast, 
Whose  iron  scourge  and  torturing  hour 

The  bad  affright,  afflict  the  best ! 
Bound  in  thy  adamantine  chain, 
The  proud  are  taught  to  taste  of  pain, 
And  purple  tyrants  vainly  groan 
With  pangs  unfelt  before,  unpitied  and  alone. 


100  TO   ADVERSITY. 

When  first  thy  sire  to  send  on  earth 

Virtue,  his  darling  child,  design'd, 
To  thee  he  gave  the  heavenly  birth, 

And  bade  to  form  her  infant  mind. 
Stern  rugged  nurse  !    thy  rigid  Jore 
With  j)atience  many  a  year  she  bore : 
What  sorrow  wa«,  thou  badest  her  know, 
And  from  her  own  she  learn'd  to  melt  at  others'  woe. 

Scared  at  thy  frown  terrific,  fly 

Self-pleasing  Folly's  idle  brood. 
Wild  Laughter,  Noise,  and  thoughtless  Joy, 

And  leave  us  leisure  to  be  good. 
Light  they  disperse,  and  with  them  go 
The  summer  friend,  the  flattering  foe  ; 
By  vain  Prosperity  received, 
To  her  they  vow  their  truth,  and  are  again  believed. 

Wisdom  in  sable  garb  array'd. 

Immersed  in  rapturous  thought  profound, 


TO  ADVEKSITY.  101 

And  Melancholy,  silent  maid, 

With  leaden  eye  that  loves  the  ground. 

Still  on  thy  solemn  steps  attend ; 

Warm  Charity,  the  general  friend, 
With  Justice,  to  herself  severe. 

And  Pity,  dropping  soft  the  sadly  pleasing  tear. 

Oh !   gently  on  thy  suppliant's  head, 

Dread  goddess,  lay  thy  chastening  hand  ! 

Not  in  thy  Gorgon  terrors  clad. 
Not  circled  with  the  vengeful  band 

(As  by  the  impious  thou  art  seen) 

With  thundering  voice  and  threatening  mien. 

With  screaming  Horror's  funeral  cry, 
Despair,  and  fell  Disease,  and  ghastly  Poverty : 

Thy  form  benign,  oh  goddess,  wear, 

Thy  milder  influence  impart. 
Thy  philosophic  train  be  there 

To  soften,  not  to  wound  my  heart. 
9* 


102  TO  ADVERSITY. 

The  generous  spark  extinct  revive, 
Teach  me  to  love,  and  to  forgive, 
Exact  my  own  defects  to  scan, 
What  others  are  to  feel,  and  know  mvself  a  Man. 


Jt)e  ^i^ogi^e?^  of  ^oe§y. 

A   PINDARIC   ODE. 

^cjvuvTa  avvsTolaiv  eg 
Ak  Td  tsdv  epfiTjv ecjv 

PINDAR. 

LI. 
Awake,  ^olian  lyre,  awake,* 
And  give  to  rapture  all  thy  trembling  strings. 
From  Helicon's  harmonious  springs 

A  thousand  rills  their  mazy  progress  take : 

1  "Awake,  my  glory:   awake,  lute  and  harp."     David's  Psalms. 
Variation.—"  Awake,  my  lyre  :    my  glory,  wake." 

Pindar  styles  his  own  poetry,  with  its  musical  accompaniments,  kloTirjtg 
fioy^Tzrj,  A.l6Xi6eg  x^P^^h  A^loTiidcov  tzvooh,  avTioJv,  -^olian  song,  ^olian  strings, 
the  breath  of  the  ^olian  flute. 

The  subject  and  simile,  as  usual  with  Pindar,  are  united.  The  various 
sources  of  poetry,  which  give  life  and  lustre  to  all  it  touches,  are  here 
described ;  its  quiet  majestic  progress  enriching  every  subject  (otherwise 
dry  and  barren)  with  a  pomp  of  diction  and  luxuriant  harmony  of  num- 
bers ;  and  its  more  rapid  and  irresistible  course,  when  swoln  and  hur- 
ried away  by  the  conflict  of  tumultuous  passions. 


104  THE  PKOGRESS  OF  POESY. 

The  laughing  flowers  that  round  them  blow, 

Drink  life  and  fragrance  as  they  flow. 

Now  the  rich  stream  of  music  winds  along, 

Deep,  majestic,  smooth,  and  strong. 

Through  verdant  vales,  and  Ceres'  golden  reign  : 

Now  rolling  down  the  steep  amain. 

Headlong,  impetuous,  see  it  pour : 

The  rocks  and  nodding  groves  rebellow  to  the  roar. 

I.     2. 

Oh  !    Sovereign  of  the  willing  soul,* 
Parent  of  sweet  and  solemn-breathing  airs. 
Enchanting  shell !    the  sullen  Cares 

And  frantic  Passions  hear  thy  soft  control. 
On  Thracia's  hills  the  Lord  of  War 
Has  curb'd  the  fury  of  his  car. 
And  dropp'd  his  thirsty  lance  at  thy  command. 
Perching  on  the  sceptred  hand'^ 

1  Power   of  harmony  to  calm   the   turbulent   sallies   of  the    soul.     The 
thoughts  are  borrowed  from  the  first  Pythian  of  Pindar. 

2  This  is  a  weak  imitation  of  some  beautiful  lines  in  the  same  ode. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  POESY.  105 

Of  Jove,  thy  magic  lulls  the  feather'd  king 
With  ruffled  plumes  and  flagging  wing : 
Quench'd  in  dark  clouds  of  slumber  lie 
The  terror  of  his  beak,  and  lightnings  of  his  eye. 

I.     3. 

Thee  the  voice,  the  dance,  obey,^ 

Temper'd  to  thy  warbled  lay. 

O'er  Idalia's  velvet  green 

The  rosy-crowned  Loves  are  seen 

On  Cytherea's  day 

With  antic  Sport,  and  blue-eyed  Pleasures 

Frisking  light  in  frolic  measures  ; 

Now  pursuing,  now  retreating, 

Now  in  circling  troops  they  meet : 
To  brisk  notes  in  cadence  beating, 

Glance  their  many-twinkling  feet. 
Slow  melting  strains  their  Queen's  approach  declare : 

Where'er  she  turns,  the  Graces  homage  pay. 
1  Power  of  harmony  to  produce  all  the  graces  of  motion  in  the  body. 


106  THE  PKOGEESS  OF  POESY. 

With  arms  sublime,  that  float  upon  the  air, 
In  gliding  state  she  wins  her  easy  way  : 
O'er  her  warm  cheek,  and  rising  bosom,  move 
The  bloom  of  young  Desire  and  purple  light  of  Love. 

11.     1. 

Man's  feeble  race  what  ills  await  !^ 
Labor,  and  Penury,  the  racks  of  Pain, 
Disease,  and  Sorrow's  weeping  train. 

And  Death,  sad  refuge  from  the  storms  of  Fate  ! 

The  fond  complaint,  my  song,  disprove. 

And  justify  the  laws  of  Jove. 

Say,  has  he  given  in  vain  the  heavenly  muse  ? 

Night  and  all  her  sickly  dews. 

Her  spectres  wan  and  birds  of  boding  cry. 

He  gives  to  range  the  dreary  sky ; 

Till  down  the  eastern  cliffs  afar 

Hyperion's  march  they  spy,  and  glittering  shafts  of  war. 

*  To  compensate  the  real  and  imaginary  ills  of  life,  the  muse  was 
given  to  mankind  by  the  same  Providence  that  sends  the  day,  by  its 
cheerful  presence,  to  dispel  the  gloom  and  terrors  of  the  night. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  POESY.  107 

11.  2. 

In  climes  beyond  the  solar  road/ 
Where  shaggy  forms  o'er  ice-built  mountains  roam, 
The  muse  has  broke  the  twilight  gloom 

To  cheer  the  shivering  native's  dull  abode. 
And  oft,  beneath  the  odorous  shade 
Of  Chili's  boundless  forests  laid, 
She  deigns  to  hear  the  savage  youth  repeat. 
In  loose  numbers  wildly  sweet, 
Their  feather-cinctured  chiefs,  and  dusky  loves. 
Her  track,  where'^er  the  goddess  roves. 
Glory  pursue,  and  generous  Shame, 
The'  unconquerable  Mind,  and  Freedom's  holy  flame. 


I  Extensive  influence  of  poetic  genius  over  the  remotest  and  most  un- 
civilized nations  ;  its  connection  with  liberty,  and  the  virtues  that  nat- 
urally attend  on  it.  [See  the  Erse,  Norwegian,  and  Welsh  fragments, 
the  Lapland  and  American  ^ongs,  &c,] 

"Extra  anni  solisque  vias — " 

VIRGIL. 

"Tutta  lontana  dal  camin  del  sole." 

PETRARCH. 


108  THE   PROGRESS   OF   POESY. 

11.     3. 

Woods,  that  wave  o'er  Delphi's  steep,^ 
Isles,  that  crown  the'  j^gean  deep, 

Fields,  that  cool  Ilissus  laves, 
f  Or  where  Mseander's  amber  waves 

In  lingering  labyrinths  creep. 

How  do  your  tuneful  echoes  languish, 

Mute,  but  to  the  voice  of  anguish  ! 
Where  each  old  poetic  mountain 

Inspiration  breathed  around ; 
Every  shade  and  hallow'd  fountain 

Murmur'd  deep  a  solemn  sound : 
Till  the  sad  Nine,  in  Grreece's  evil  hour. 

Left  their  Parnassus  for  the  Latian  plains. 

Progress  of  Poetry  from  Greece  to  Italy,  and  from  Italy  to  England. 
Chaucer  was  not  unacquainted  with  the  writings  of  Dante  or  of  Petrarch. 
The  Earl  of  Surrey  and  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt  had  travelled  in  Italy,  and 
formed  their  taste  there.  Spenser  imitated  the  Italian  writers  ;  Milton  im- 
proved on  them  :  but  this  school  expired  soon  after  the  Restoration,  and 
a  new  one  arose  on  the  French  model,  which  has  subsisted  ever  since. 

[i^*  Gray  has  been  long  dead :    the  Poets  of  the  present  day  rather 
imitate  the  Italian  and  early  English  Poets  than  the  French. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  POESY.  109 

Alike  they  scorn  the  pomp  of  tyrant  Power, 

And  coward  Vice,  that  revels  in  her  chains. 
When  Latium  had  her  lofty  spirit  lost, 
They  sought,  oh  Albion  !  next  thy  sea-encircled  coast. 

III.     1. 

Far  from  the  sun  and  summer  gale, 
In  thy  green  lap  was  Nature's  Darling  laid,^ 
What  time,  where  lucid  Avon  stray'd. 

To  him  the  mighty  mother  did  unveil 
Her  awful  face  :    the  dauntless  child 
Stretch'd  forth  his  little  arms  and  smiled. 
"  This  pencil  take  (she  said),  whose  colors  clear 
Richly  paint  the  vernal  year  : 
Thine  too  these  golden  keys,  immortal  Boy  1 
This  can  unlock  the  gates  of  joy  ; 
Of  horror  that,  and  thrilling  fears. 
Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  tears." 

1  "Nature's  Darling,"  Shakspearo. 
10 


110  THE   PROGKESS  OF   POESY. 

III.      2. 

Nor  second  He,  that  rode  sublime* 
Upon  the  seraph  wings  of  Ecstacy, 
The  secrets  of  the'  abyss  to  spy, 

He  pass'd  the  flaming  bounds  of  place  and  time : 
The  living  throne,  the  sapphire  blaze,^ 
Where  angels  tremble  while  they  gaze, 
He  saw  ;    but,  blasted  with  excess  of  light, 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night. 
Behold,  where  Dryden's  less  presumptuous  car 
Wide  o'er  the  fields  of  glory  bear 
Two  coursers  of  etherial  race. 
With  necks  in  thunder  clothed,^  and  long-resounding  pace. 


i  Milton. 

2  "For  the  spirit  of  the  living  creature  was  in  the  wheels.  And  above 
the  firmament,  that  was  over  their  heads,  was  the  likeness  of  a  throne, 
as  the  appearance  of  a  sapphire  stone.  This  was  the  appearance  of  the 
glory  of  the  Lord."     Ezek.  i.  20,  26,  28. 

3  "Hast  thou  clothed  his  neck  with  thunder?"  Job. — This  verse  and 
the  foregoing  are  meant  to  express  the  stately  march  and  sounding  energy 
of  Dryden's  rhymes. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  POESY.  Ill 

III.     3. 
Hark,  his  hands  the  lyre  explore  ! 
Bright-eyed  Fancy,  hovering  o'er, 
Scatters  from  her  pictured  urn 
Thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that  burn. 
But  ah  !    'tis  heard  no  more ^ 

Oh  !   lyre  divine,  what  daring  spirit 

Wakes  thee  now  ?    Though  he  inherit 
Nor  the  pride,  nor  ample  pinion. 

That  the  Theban  eagle  bare,'^ 
Sailing  with  supreme  dominion 

Through  the  azure  deep  of  air : 

^  We  have  had  in  our  language  no  other  odes  of  the  sublime  kind  than 
that  of  Dryden  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day  ;  for  Cowley,  who  had  merit,  yet  wanted 
judgment,  style,  and  harmony,  for  such  a  task.  That  of  Pope  is  not  worthy 
of  so  great  a  man.  Mr.  Mason  indeed,  of  late  days,  has  touched  the  true 
chords,  and  with  a  masterly  hand,  in  some  of  his  choruses ;  above  all  in  the 
last  of  Caractacus  : 

"  Hark ;   heard  ye  not  yon  footstep  dread  ?"  &c. 

2  Aiog  Trpog  bpvixa  Oelov.  Olymp.  ii.  159.  Pindar  compares  himself  to 
that  bird,  and  his  enemies  to  ravens  that  croak  and  clamor  in  vain  below, 
while  it  pursues  its  flight,  regardless  of  their  noise. 


112  THE   PKOGRESS  OF   POESY. 

Yet  oft  before  his  infant  eyes  would  run 
Such  forms  as  glitter  in  the  Muse's  ray, 

With  orient  hues,  unborrow'd  of  the  sun : 

Yet  shall  he  mount,  and  keep  his  distant  way 

Beyond  the  limits  of  a  vulgar  fate, 

Beneath  the  Good  how  far — ^but  far  above  the  Great. 


A     PINDARIC     ODE. 

This  Ode  is  founded  on  a  tradition  current  in  Wales,  that  Edward  the 
First,  when  he  completed  the  conquest  of  that  country,  ordered  all  the 
Bards  that  fell  into  his  hands  to  be  put  to  death. 

I.      1. 

"  EujN  seize  thee,  ruthless  King ! 

Confusion  on  thy  banners  wait ; 
Though  fann'd  by  Conquest's  crimson  wing. 

They  mock  the  air  with  idle  state. 

Helm  nor  hauberk's  twisted  mail/ 
Nor  e'en  thy  virtues,  Tyrant,  shall  avail 
To  save  thy  secret  soul  from  nightly  fears, 
From  Cambria's  curse,  from  Cambria's  tears  !" 

1  The  hauberk  was  a  texture  of  steel  ringlets,  or  rings  interwoven, 
forming  a  coat  of  mail  that  sat  close  to  the  body,  and  adapted  itself  to 
every  motion. 

10* 


114  THE  BARD. 

Such  were  the  sounds  that  o'er  the  crested  pride 

Of  the  first  Edward  scatter'd  wild  dismay, 
As  down  the  steep  of  Snowdon's  shaggy  side* 

He  wound  with  toilsome  march  his  long  array. 
Stout  Glo'ster^  stood  aghast  in  speechless  trance : 

"  To    arms  !"  cried    Mortimer/  and    couch'd   his   quivering 
lance. 

I.     2. 

On  a  rockj  whose  haughty  brow 
Frowns  o'er  old  Conway's  foaming  flood, 

Robed  in  the  sable  garb  of  woe, 
With  haggard  eyes  the  poet  stood  ; 

1  Snowdon  was  a  name  given  by  the  Saxons  to  that  mountainous  tract :  it 
included  all  the  highlands  of  Caernarvonshire  and  Merionethshire,  as  far 
east  as  the  river  Conway. 

2  Gilbert  de  Clare,  surnamed  the  Red,  Earl  of  Gloucester  and  Hertford ; 
married  at  Westminster,  May  2,  1290,  to  Joan  de  Acres  or  Aeon  (so  called 
from  having  been  born  at  Aeon  in  the  Holy  Land)  second  daughter  of  King 
Edward.— He  died  1295. 

3  Edmond  de  Mortimer,  Lord  of  Wigmore. 

They  both  were  Lord  Marchers,  whose  lands  lay  on  the  borders  of  Wales, 
and  probably  accompanied  the  king  in  this  expedition. 


THE   BARD.  11& 

(Loose  his  beard,  and  hoary  hair^ 

Stream'd  like  a  meteo},   to  the  troubled  air) 

And  with  a  master's  hand,  and  prophet's  fire, 

Struck  the  deep  sorrows  of  his  lyre. 

"  Hark,  how  each  giant-oak,  and  desert-cave, 

Sighs  to  the  torrent's  awful  voice  beneath  ! 
O'er  thee,  oh  King !  their  hundred  arms  they  wave 

Revenge  on  thee  in  hoarser  murmurs  breathe ; 
Vocal  no  more,  since  Cambria's  fatal  day, 
To  high-born  Hoel's  h^rp,  or  soft  Llewellyn's  lay. 

I     3. 

"  Cold  is  Cadwallo's  tongue. 

That  hush'd  the  stormy  main  : 
Brave  Urien  sleeps  upon  his  craggy  bed : 

Mountains,  ye  mourn  in  vain 

Modred,  whose  magic  song 
Made  huge  Plinlimmon  bow  his  cloud-topt  head. 

1  The  image  was  taken  from  a  well-known  picture  by  Raphael,  represent- 
ing the  Supreme  Being  in  the  vision  of  Ezekiel. 


116  THE   BARD. 

On  dreary  Arvon's  shore  they  lie,^ 
Smear'd  with  gore,  and  ghastly  pale : 
Far,  far  aloof  the'  affrighted  ravens  sail  ; 

The  famish'd  eagle  screams,  and  passes  by.^ 
Dear  lost  companions  of  my  tuneful  art, 

Dear  as  the  light  that  visits  these  sad  eyes, 
Dear  as  the  ruddy  drops  that  warm  my  heart, 

Ye  died  amidst  your  dying  country's  cries — 
No  more  I  weep.     They  do  not  sleep. 

On  yonder  cliffs  a  grisly  tand, 
I  see  them  sit,  they  linger  yet, 

Avengers  of  their  native  land  : 
With  me  in  dreadful  harmony  they  join. 
And  weave  with  bloody  hands  the  tissue  of  thy  line.^ 

1  The  shores  of  Caernarvonshire  opposite  to  the  isle  of  Anglesey. 

2  Camden  and  others  observe,  that  eagles  used  annually  to  build  their 
aerie  among  the  rocks  of  Snowdon,  which  from  thence  (as  some  think)  were 
named  by  the  Welsh  Craigian-eryri,  or  the  crags  of  tho  eagles.  At  this  day 
the  highest  point  of  Snowdon  is  called  the  Eagle's  Nest.  That  bird  is  certain- 
ly no  stranger  to  this  island,  as  the  Scots,  and  the  people  of  Cumberland, 
AYestmoreland,  &c.  can  testify  ;  it  even  has  built  its  nest  in  the  peak  of  Der- 
byshire.    (See  Willoughby's  Ornithology,  published  by  Ray.) 

3  See  the  Norwegian  Ode  (the  Fatal  Sisters)  that  follows. 


THE   BAKD.  IIT 

II.      1. 

"Weave  the  warp,  and  weave  the  woof, 
The  winding-sheet  of  Edward's  race. 

Give  ample  room,  and  verge  enough 
The  characters  of  hell  to  trace. 
Mark  the  year,  and  mark  the  night, 
When  Severn  shall  re-echo  with  affright 
The  shrieks  of  death,  through  Berkley's  roof  that  ring,^ 
Shrieks  of  an  agonizing  king  ! 

She-wolf  of  France,^  with  unrelenting  fang», 
That  tear'st  the  bowels  of  thy  mangled  mate, 

From  thee  be  born,  who  o'er  thy  country  hangs 
The  scourge  of  Heaven.^     What  terrors  round  him  wait ! 
Amazement  in  his  van,  with  flight  combined, 
And  sorrow's  faded  form,  and  solitude  behind. 


1  Edward  the  Second,  cruelly  butchered  in  Berkley  Castle. 
*  Isabel  of  France,  Edward  the  Second's  adulterous  queen. 
3  Triumphs  of  Edward  the  Third  in  France. 


118  THE   BARD. 

II.      2. 

"  Mighty  victor,  mighty  Lord  ! 
Low  on  his  funeral  couch  he  lies  !* 

No  pitying  heart,  no  eye,  afford 
A  tear  to  grace  his  obsequies. 

Is  the  sable  warrior  fled  V 
Thy  son  is  gone.     He  rests  among  the  dead. 
The  swarm,  that  in  thy  noontide  beam  were  born  ? 
Grone  to  salute  the  rising  morn. 
Fair  laughs  the  morn,  and  soft  the  zephyr  blows,"^ 

While  proudly  riding  o'er  the  azure  realm 
In  gallant  trim  the  gilded  vessel  goes  ; 

Youth  on  the  prow,  and  pleasure  at  the  helm  ; 
Regardless  of  the  sweeping  whirlwind's  sway, 
That,  hush'd  in  grim  repose,  expects  his  evening  prey. 


1  Death  of  that  king,  abandoned  by  his  children,  and  even  robbed  in  his 
last  moments  by  his  courtiers  and  his  mistress. 

2  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  dead  some  time  before  his  father. 

3  Magnificence  of  Richard  the  Second's  reign.     See  Froissart,  and  other 
contemporary  writers. 


m 


THE   BAKD. 

11.      3. 

"  Fill  high  the  sparkling  bowl/ 
The  rich  repast  prepare. 

Eeft  of  a  crown,  he  yet  may  share  the  feast : 
Close  by  the  regal  chair 

Fell  Thirst  and  Famine  scowl 

A  baleful  smile  upon  their  baffled  guest. 
Heard  ye  the  din  of  battle  bray,^ 

Lance  to  lance,  and  horse  to  horse  ? 

Long  years  of  havoc  urge  their  destined  course, 
And  through  the  kindred  squadrons  mow  their  way. 

Ye  towers  of  Julius,  London's  lasting  shame, 
With  many  a  foul  and  midnight  murder  fed,' 


1  Richard  the  Second,  as  we  are  told  by  Archbishop  Scroop  and  the  confed- 
erate Lords  in  their  manifesto,  by  Thomas  of  Walsingham,  and  all  the  older 
writers,  was  starved  to  death.  The  story  of  his  assassination,  by  Sir  Piers  of 
Exon,  is  of  much  later  date. 

2  Ruinous  wars  of  York  and  Lancaster. 

3  Henry  the  Sixth,  George  Duke  of  Clarence,  Edward  the  Fifth,  Richard 
Duke  of  York,  &c.,  believed  to  be  murdered  secretly  in  the  Tower  of  London. 
The  oldest  part  of  that  structure  is  vulgarly  attributed  to  Julius  CsBsar. 


120  THE   BARD. 

Revere  his  consort's  faith,'  his  father's  fame,- 
And  spare  the  meek  usurper's  holy  head.^ 
x\bove,  below,  the  rose  of  snow/ 

Twined  with  her  blushing  foe^  we  spread  : 
The  bristled  boar  in  infant-gore'' 

Wallows  beneath  the  thorny  shade. 
Now,  brothers,  bending  o'er  the'  accursed  loom. 
Stamp  we  our  vengeance  deep,  and  ratify  his  doom. 

III.     1. 

'•  Edward,  lo  !    to  sudden  fate 
(Weave  we  the  woof     The  thread  is  spun) 

Half  of  thy  heart  we  consecrate/ 
(The  web  is  wove.     The  work  is  done.) 

1  Margaret  of  Anjou,  a  woman  of  heroic  spirit,  who  struggled  hard  to  save 
her  hu?band  and  her  crown. 
■^'  Henry  the  Fifth. 

3  Henry  the  Sixth,  very  near  being  canonized.     The  line  of  Lancaster  had 
no  right  of  inheritance  to  the  crown.  « 

4  The  white  and  red  roses,  devices  of  York  and  Lancaster. 

5  The  silver  boar  was  the  badge  of  Richard  the  Third  ;   whence  he  was 
usually  known  in  his  own  time  by  the  name  of  the  B  ar. 

6  Eleanor  of  Castile  died  a  few  years  after  the  conquest  of  Wales.    The 


THE  BAKD.  121 

Stay,  oh  stay  !   nor  thus  forlorn 

Leave  me  unbless'd.  unpitied,  here  to  mourn  : 

In  yon  bright  track,  that  fires  the  western  skies, 

They  melt,  they  vanish  from  my  eyes. 

But  oh  !   what  solemn  scenes  on  Snowdon's  height 

Descending  slow  their  glittering  skirts  unroll  ? 
Visions  of  glory,  spare  my  aching  sight ! 

Ye  unborn  ages,  crowd  not  on  my  soul ! 
No  more  our  long-lost  Arthur  we  bewail.^ 
All  hail,  ye  genuine  kings,  Britannia's  issue,  hail  P 

III     2. 

"  Girt  with  many  a  baron  bold 
Sublime  their  starry  fronts  they  rear : 

heroic  proof  she  gave  of  her  affection  for  her  lord  is  well  known.  The  monu- 
ments of  his  regret  and  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  her,  are  still  to  be  seen  at 
Northampton,  Gaddington,  Waltham,  and  other  places. 

1  It  was  the  common  belief  of  the  Welsh  nation,  that  King  Arthur  was  still 
alive  in  Fairyland,  and  would  return  again  to  reign  over  Britain. 

2  Both  Merlin  and  Taliessin  had  prophesied,  that  the  Welsh  should  regain 
their  sovereignty  c^er  this  island ;  which  seemed  to  be  accomplished  in  the 
house  of  Tudor. 

11 


122  THE   BARD. 

And  gorgeous  dames,  and  statesmen  old 
'        In  bearded  majesty,  appear. 
In  the  midst  a  form  divine  ! 
Her  eye  proclaims  her  of  the  Briton-line ; 
Her  lion-port,  her  awe-commanding  face,^ 
Attemper'd  sweet  to  virgin-grace. 
What  strings  symphonious  tremble  in  the  air, 

What  strains  of  vocal  transport  round  her  play  ! 
Hear  from  the  grave,  great  Taliessin,  hear  ;^ 

They  breathe  a  soul  to  animate  thy  clay. 
Bright  Rapture  calls,  and,  soaring  as  she  sings, 
Waves  in  the  eye  of  heaven  her  many-color'd  wings. 

III.     3. 

"  The  verse  adorn  again 

Fierce  war,  and  faithful  love, 

"  Speed,  relating  an  audience  given  by  Queen  Elizabeth  to  Paul  Dzialinski, 
ambassador  of  Poland,  says,  "  And  thus  she,  lion-like  rising,  daunted  the 
malapert  orator  no  less  with  her  stately  port  and  majestical  deporture,  than 
with  the  tartnesse  of  her  princelie  checkes." 

2  Taliessin,  chief  of  the  bards,  flourished  in  the  sixth  century.  His  works  are 
atill  preserved,  and  his  memory  held  in  high  veneration  among  his  countrymen. 


THE   BARD.  128 

And  truth  severe,  by  fairy  fiction  drest. 

In  buskin'd  measures  move^ 
Pale  grief,  and  pleasing  pain, 
With  horror,  tyrant  of  the  throbbing  breast. 

A  voice,  as  of  the  cherub-choir,'^ 
Gales  from  blooming  Eden  bear  ; 
And  distant  warblings  lessen  on  my  ear,^ 

That  lost  in  long  futurity  expire. 
Fond  impious  man,  think'st  thou  yon  sanguine  cloud, 

Kaised  by  thy  breath,  has  quench' d  the  orb  of  day  ? 
To-morrow  he  repairs  the  golden  flood. 

And  warms  the  nations  with  redoubled  ray. 
Enough  for  me  !    with  joy  I  see 

The  different  doom  our  fates  assign. 
Be  thine  despair,  and  sceptred  care, 

To  triumph,  and  to  die,  are  mine." 
He  spoke,  and  headlong  from  the  mountain's  height 
Deep  in  the  roaring  tide  he  plunged  to  endless  night. 

1  Shakspeare.  2  Milton. 

3  The  succession  of  poets  after  Milton's  time. 


(irregular.) 

Performed   in   the   Senate-House    at    Cambridge,  July  1,   1769,  at   the  in- 
stallation of  the  Duke  of  Grrafton,  as  Chancellor  of  the  University. 

I. 

"  Hence,  avaunt,  ('tis  holy  ground) 

Comus,  and  his  midnight-crew, 
And  Ignorance  with  looks  profound, 

And  dreaming  Sloth  of  pallid  hue, 
Mad  sedition's  cry  profane, 
Servitude  that  hugs  her  chain, 
Nor  in  these  consecrated  bowers 
Let  painted  Flattery  hide  her  serpent-train  in  flowers. 


FOR  MUSIC.  125 

Nor  Envy  base,  nor  creeping  Gain, 
Dare  the  Muse's  walk  to  stain, 
While  bright-eyed  Science  watches  round : 
Hence,  away,  'tis  holy  ground  !" 

II. 

From  yonder  realms  of  empyrean  day 

Bursts  on  my  ear  the  indignant  lay : 
There  sit  the  sainted  sage,  the  bard  divine, 

The  few,  whom  genius  gave  to  shine 
Through  every  unbDrn  age,  and  undiscover'd  clime. 

Rapt  in  celestial  transport  they : 

Yet  hither  oft  a  glance  from  high 

They  send  of  tender  sympathy 
To  bless  the  place,  where  on  their  opening  soul 

First  the  genuine  ardor  stole. 
Twas  Milton  struck  the  deep-toned  shell, 
And,  as  the  choral  warblings  round  him  swell, 
Meek  Newton's  self  bends  from  his  state  sublime. 
And  nods  his  hoary  head,  and  listens  to  the  rhyme. 
11* 


126  FOE  MUSIC. 

III. 

"  Ye  brown  o'erarching  groves, 

That  contemplation  loves, 
Where  willowy  Camus  lingers  with  delight ! 

Oft  at  the  blush  of  dawn 

I  trod  your  level  lawn, 
Oft  woo'd  the  gleam  of  Cynthia  silver-bright 
In  cloisters  dim,  far  from  the  haunts  of  Folly, 
With  Freedom  by  my  side,  and  soft-eyed  Melancholy." 

lY. 

But  hark  !    the  portals  sound,  and  pacing  forth 

With  solemn  steps  and  slow, 
High  potentates,  and  dames  of  royal  birth. 
And  mitred  fathers  in  long  order  go  : 
G-reat  Edward,  with  the  lilies  on  his  brow* 

From  haughty  Gallia  torn, 

1  Edward  the  Third,  who  added  the  fleur  de  lys  of  France  to  the  arms  of 
England.     He  founded  Trinity  College. 


FOR  MUSIC.  127 

And  sad  Chatillon,  on  her  bridal  morn^ 

That  wept  her  bleeding  Love,  and  princely  Clare,'^ 

And  Anjou's  heroine,  and  the  paler  rose,^ 

The  rival  of  her  crown  and  of  her  woes, 

And  either  Henry  there," 
The  murder' d  saint,  and  the  majestic  lord, 
That  broke  the  bonds  of  Rome. 

(Their  tears,  their  little  triumphs  o'er, 

Their  human  passions  now  no  more, 


1  Mary  de  Valentia,  Countess  of  Pembroke,  daughter  of  Guy  de  Chatillon, 
comte  de  St.  Paul  in  France  ;  of  whom  tradition  says,  that  her  husband 
Auderaar  de  Valentia,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  was  slain  at  a  tournament  on  the 
day  of  his  nuptials.  She  was  the  foundress  of  Pembroke  College  or  Hall, 
under  the  name  of  Aula  Mariee  de  Valentia. 

2  Elizabeth  de  Burg,  Countess  of  Clare,  was  wife  of  John  de  Burg,  son  and 
heir  to  the  Earl  of  Ulster,*  and  daughter  of  Gilbert  de  Clare,  Earl  of  Glouces- 
ter, by  Joan  Acres,  daughter  of  Edward  the  First.  Hence  the  poet  gives  her 
the  epithet  of -princely.     She  founded  Clare  Hall. 

3  Margaret  of  Anjou,  wife  of  Henry  the  Sixth,  foundress  of  Queen's 
College.  The  poet  has  celebrated  her  conjugal  fidelity  in  "  The  Bard^''  epode 
2d,  line  13th. 

Elizabeth  Widville,  wife  of  Edward  the  Fourth,  hence  called  the  paler  rose, 
as  being  of  the  house  of  York.  She  added  to  the  foundation  of  Margaret  of 
Anjou. 

4  Henry  the  Sixth  and  Eighth.  The  former  the  founder  of  King's,  the  lat- 
ter the  greatest  benefactor  to  Trinity  College. 


128  FOR  MUSIC. 

Save  Charity,  that  glows  beyond  the  tomb.) 
All  that  on  G-ranta's  fruitful  plain 
Rich  streams  of  regal  bounty  pour'd, 
And  bade  these  awful  fanes  and  turrets  rise, 
To  hail  their  Fitzroy's  festal  morning  come  : 
And  thus  they  speak  in  soft  accord 
The  liquid  language  of  the  skies : 

V. 

"  What  is  grandeur,  what  is  power  ? 
Heavier  toil,  superior  pain. 
What  the  bright  reward  we  gain  ? 
The  grateful  memory  of  the  good. 
Sweet  is  the  breath  of  vernal  shower, 
The  bee's  collected  treasures  sweet, 
Sweet  music's  melting  fall,  but  sweeter  yet 
The  still  small  voice  of  gratitude." 


FOJR  MUSIC.  129 

VI. 

Foremost  and  leaning  from  her  golden  cloud 

The  venerable  Margaret  see  !' 
'•Welcome,  my  noble  son,  (she  cries  aloud) 

To  this,  thy  kindred  train,  and  me  : 

Pleased  in  thy  lineaments  we  trace 

A  Tudor's  fire,  a  Beaufort's  grace. '^ 

Thy  liberal  heart,  thy  judging  eye, 

The  flower  unheeded  shall  descry, 

And  bid  it  round  heaven's  altars  shed 

The  fragrance  of  its  blushing  head  : 

Shall  raise  from  earth  the  latent  gem 

To  glitter  on  the  diadem. 

VII. 

"  Lo  !    Granta  waits  to  lead  her  blooming  band, 
Not  obvious,  not  obtrusive,  she 

1  Countess  of  Richmond  and  Derby  :  the  mother  of  Henry  the  Seventh, 
foundress  of  St.  John's  and  Christ's  Colleges. 

2  The  Countess  was  a  Beaufort,  and  married  to  a  Tudor  :  hence  the  appli- 
cation of  this  line  to  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  who  claims  descent  from  both  theso 
families. 


130  FOR  MUSIC. 

No  vulgar  praise,  no  venal  license  flings  ; 

Nor  dares  with  courtly  tongue  refined 
Profane  thy  inborn  royalty  of  mind  : 

She  reveres  herself  and  thee. 
With  modest  pride  to  grace  thy  youthful  brow. 
The  laureate  wreath,  that  Cecil  wore,  she  brings,^ 

And  to  thy  just,  thy  gentle  hand, 

Submits  the  fasces  of  her  sway, 
While  spirits  bless'd  above  and  men  below 
Join  with  glad  voice  the  loud  symphonious  lay. 

VIIT. 

"  Through  the  wild  waves  as  they  roar, 
With  watchful  eye  and  dauntless  mien. 
Thy  steady  course  of  honor  keep, 
Nor  fear  the  rocks,  nor  seek  the  shore  : 
The  star  of  Brunswick  smiles  serene, 
And  gilds  the  horrors  of  the  deep." 

1  Lord  Treasurer  Burleigh  was  chancellor  to  the  University  in  the  reign 
of  Queen  Elizabeth. 


JU  E^t^l  Siglel^g. 


FROM   THE   NORSE   TONGUE. 

To  be  found  in  the  Orcades  of  Thormodus  Torfaeus  ;  Hafniae,  1697,  folio  :  and 
also  in  Bartholinus,  p.  617.  lib.  3.  c.  i.  4to. 

Vitt  er  orpit  fyrir  valfalli,  ^. 

In  the  eleventh  century  Sigurd,  Earl  of  the  Orkney  Islands,  went  with  a 
fleet  of  ships  and  a  considerable  body  of  troops  into  Ireland,  to  the  assist- 
ance of  Sictryg  with  the  silken  beard,  who  was  then  making  war  on  his 
father-in-law  Brian,  King  of  Dublin  :  the  earl  and  all  his  forces  were  cut 
to  pieces,  and  Sictryg  was  in  danger  of  a  total  defeat ;  but  the  enemy  had 
a  greater  loss  by  the  death  of  Brian,  their  king,  who  fell  in  the  action.  On 
Christmas  day  (the  day  of  the  battle),  a  native  of  Caithness  in  Scotland  saw 
at  a  distance  a  number  of  persons  on  horseback  riding  full  speed  towards  a 
hill,  and  seeming  to  enter  into  it.  Curiosity  lied  him  to  follow  them,  till 
looking  through  an  opening  in  the  rocks  he  saw  twelve  gigantic  figures  re- 
sembling women  :  they  were  all  employed  about  a  loom  ;  and  as  they  wove, 
they  sang  the  following  dreadful  song ;  which  when  they  had  finished,  they 
tore  the  web  into  twelve  pieces,  and  (each  taking  her  portion)  galloped  six 
to  the  north,  and  as  many  to  the  south.    These  were  the  Valkyriur,  female 


132  THE   FATAL   SISTEKS. 

divinities,  servants  of  Odin  (or  Woden)  in  the  Gothic  mythology.  Their 
name  signifies  Choosers  of  the  slain.  They  were  mounted  on  swift  horses, 
with  drawn  swords  in  their  hands  :  and  in  the  throng  of  battle  selected  such 
as  were  destined  to  slaughter,  and  conducted  them  to  Valkalla,  the  hall  of 
Odin,  or  paradise  of  the  brave  :  where  they  attended  the  banquet,  and 
served  the  departed  heroes  with  horns  of  mead  and  ale. 


Now  the  storm  begins  to  lower, 
(Haste,  the  loom  of  Hell  prepare), 

Iron  sleet  of  arrowy  shower 
Hurtles  in  the  darken' d  air. 

Glittering  lances  are  the  loom, 
Where  the  dusky  warp  we  strain, 

Weaving  many  a  soldier's  doom, 
Orkney's  woe  and  Randver's  bane. 

See  the  grisly  texture  |row  ! 

('Tis  of  human  entrails  made) 
And  the  weights,  that  play  below. 

Each  a  gasping  warrior's  head. 


THE  FATAL  SISTERS.  138 

Shafts  for  shuttles  dipp'd  in  gore, 

Shoot  the  trembling  cords  along. 
Swordj  that  once  a  monarch  bore, 

Keep  the  tissue  close  and  strong. 

Mista,  black  terrific  maid, 

Sangrida,  and  Hilda,  see. 
Join  the  wayward  work  to  aid: 

'Tis  the  woof  of  victory. 

Ere  the  ruddy  sun  be  set. 

Pikes  must  shiver,  javelins  sing. 
Blade  with  clattering  buckler  meet. 

Hauberk  crash,  and  helmet  ring. 

(Weave  the  crimson  web  of  war) 

Let  us  go,  and  let  us  fly. 
Where  our  friends  the  conflict  share. 

Where  they  triumph,  where  they  die. 
12 


134  THE   FATAL   SISTERS. 

As  the  paths  of  Fate  we  tread. 

Wading  through  the'  ensanguined  field, 

Gondula,  and  Geira,  spread 

O'er  the  youthful  king  your  shield. 

We  the  reins  to  slaughter  give, 
Ours  to  kill  and  ours  to  spare : 

Spite  of  danger  he  shall  live. 

(Weave  the  crimson  web  of  war.) 

They,  whom  once  the  desert  beach 
Pent  within  its  bleak  domain, 

Soon  their  ample  sway  shall  stretch 
O'er  the  plenty  of  the  plain. 

Low  the  dauntless  earl  is  laid, 

Gored  with  many  a  gaping  wound : 

Fate  demands  a  nobler  head  ; 

Soon  a  king  shall  bite  the  ground. 


THE   FATAL   SISTERS.  136 

Long  his  loss  shall  Eirin  weep, 

Ne'er  again  his  likeness  see ; 
Long  her  strains  in  sorrow  steep  : 

Strains  of  immortality  ! 

Horror  covers  all  the  heath, 

Clouds  of  carnage  blot  the  sun. 
Sisters,  weave  the  web  of  death. 
*  Sisters,  cease ;    the  work  is  done. 

Hail  the  task,  and  bail  the  hands  ! 

Songs  of  joy  and  triumph  sing  ! 
Joy  to  the  victorious  bands  ; 

Triumph  to  the  younger  king. 

Mortal,  thou  that  hearest  the  tale, 

Learn  the  tenor  of  our  song. 
Scotland,  through  each  winding  vale 

Far  and  wide  the  notes  prolong. 


136  THE   FATAL   SISTERS. 

Sisters,  hence  with  spurs  of  speed : 
Each  her  thundering  falchion  wield ; 

Each  bestride  her  sable  steed. 
Hurry   hurry  to  the  field  ! 


J\}0  Se,seer)t  of  O^m. 


FROM   THE   NORSE   TONGUE. 

The  original  is  to  be  found  in  Bartholinus,  De  Causis  contemnendse  Mortis  ; 
Hafniae,  1689,  quarto,  p.  632. 

Upreis  Odinn  allda  gautr,  S^c. 


Uprose  the  king  of  men  with  speed, 
And  saddled  straight  his  coal-black  steed  : 
Down  the  yawning  steep  he  rode, 
That  leads  to  Hela's  drear  abode.  ^ 

1  Niflheliar,  the  hell  of  the  Gothic  nations,  consisted  of  nine  worlds,  to 
which  were  devoted  all  such  as  died  of  sickness,  old  age,  or  by  any  other 
means  than  in  battle.     Over  it  presided  Hela,  the  goddess  of  death.     Mason. 

Hela,  in  the  Edda,  is  described  with  a  dreadful  countenance,  and  her  body 
half  flesh-color,  and  half  blue.    Gray. 

12* 


138  THE  DESCEISTT  OF  ODIN. 

Him  the  dog  of  darkness  spied  ;* 
His  shaggy  throat  he  open'd  wide, 
While  from  his  jaws,  with  carnage  fiU'd. 
Foam  and  human  gore  distill'd : 
Hoarse  he  bays  with  hideous  din, 
Eyes  that  glow,  and  fangs  that  grin  ; 
And  long  pursues,  with  fruitless  yell, 
The  father  of  the  powerful  spell. 
Onward  still  his  way  he  takes 
(The  groaning  earth  beneath  him  shakes), 
Till  full  before  his  fearless  eyes 
The  portals  nine  of  hell  arise. 

Right  against  the  eastern  gate, 
By  the  moss-grown  pile  he  sate ; 
Where  long  of  yore  to  sleep  was  laid 
The  dust  of  the  prophetic  maid. 

1  The  Edda  gives  this  dog  the  name  of  Managarmar.     He  fed  upon 
lives  of  those  that  were  to  die.     Mason. 


the 


THE  DESCENT  OF  ODIN.  139 

Facing  to  the  northern  clime, 
Thrice  he  traced  the  Kunic  rhyme  ; 
Thrice  pronounced,  in  accents  dread, 
The  thrilling  verse  that  wakes  the  dead ; 
Till  from  out  the  hollow  grounds 
Slowly  breathed  a  sullen  sound. 

PROPHETESS. 

What  call  unknown,  what  charms  presume 
To  break  the  quiet  of  the  tomb  ? 
Who  thus  afflicts  my  troubled  sprite. 
And  drags  me  from  t^e  realms  of  night  ? 
Long  on  these  mouldering  bones  have  beat 
The  winter's  snows,  the  summer's  heat, 
The  drenching  dews,  and  driving  rain  ! 
Let  me,  let  me  sleep  again. 
Who  is  he,  with  voice  unblest, 
That  calls  me  from  the  bed  of  rest  ? 


140  THE   DESCENT   OF   ODIN. 


A  traveller,  to  thee  unknown, 
Is  he  that  calls,  a  warrior's  son. 
Thou  the  deeds  of  light  shalt  know ; 
Tell  m*what  is  done  below,* 
For  whom  yon  glittering  board  is  spread, 
Dress'd  for  whora  yon  golden  bed  ? 

PROPHETESS. 

Mantling  in  the  goblet  see 
The  pure  beverage  of  the  bee  : 
O'er  it  hangs  the  shield  of  gold  ; 
'Tis  the  drink  of  Balder  bold : 
Balder's  head  to  death  is  given. 
Pain  can  reach  the  sons  of  heaven  ! 
Unwilling  I  my  lips  unclose : 
Leave  me,  leave  me  to  repose. 

I  Odin  was  anxious  about  the  fate  of  his  son  Balder,  \frho  had  dreamed  he  was 
soon  to  die.  He  was  killed  by  Odin's  other  son,  Hoder,  who  was  himself  slain  by 
Vali,  the  son  of  Odin  and  Rinda,  consonant  with  this  prophecy.    See  theEdda. 


THE  DESCENT  OF   ODIN.  Ml 

ODIN. 

Once  again  my  call  obey/ 
Prophetess,  arise,  and  say, 
What  dangers  Odin's  child  await. 
Who  the  author  of  his  fate  ? 

PROPHETESS. 

In  Hoder's  hand  the  hero's  doom : 
His  brother  sends  him  to  the  tomb. 


1  Women  were  looked  upon  by  the  Gothic  nations  as  having  a  peculiar  in- 
sight into  futurity  ;  and  some  there  were  that  made  profession  of  magic  arts 
and  divination.  These  travelled  round  the  country,  and  were  received  in 
every  house  with  great  respect  and  honor.  Such  a  woman  bore  the  name  of 
Volva  Seidkona  or  Spakona.  The  dress  of  Thorbiorga,  one  of  the&e  prophet- 
esses, is  described  at  large  in  Eirik's  Kauda  Sogu  (apud  Bartholin,  lib.  i.  cap. 
iv.  p.  688).  "  She  had  on  a  blue  vest  spangled  all  over  with  stones,  a  neck- 
Isice  of  glass  beads,  and  a  cap  made  of  the  skin  of  a  black  lamb  lined  with 
white  cat-skin.  She  leaned  on  a  staff  adorned  with  brass,  with  a  round  head 
set  with  stones ;  and  was  girt  with  an  Hunlandish  belt,  at  which  hung  her 
pouch  full  of  magical  instruments.  Her  buskins  were  of  rough  calfskin,  bound 
on  with  thongs  studded  with  knobs  of  brass,  and  her  gloves  of  white  cat-skin, 
the  fur  turned  inwards,"  &c.  They  were  also  called  Fiolkyngi,  or  Fiolkun- 
nug^  i.  e.  Multisoia;  and  Visindakona,  i.  e.  Oraoulorum  Mulier;  Nomir^  i.  e. 
Parcae.     Gray. 


142  THE   DESCENT   OF   ODIN. 

Now  my  weary  lips  I  close : 
Leave  me,  leave  me  to  repose. 

ODIN. 

Prophetess,  my  spell  obey, 
Once  again  arise,  and  say. 
Who  the'  avenger  of  his  guilt, 
By  whom  shall  Hoder's  blood  be  spilt  ? 

PROPHETESS. 

In  the  caverns  of  the  west, 
By  Odin's  fierce  embrace  compress'd, 
A  wondrous  boy  shall  Rinda  bear, 
Who  ne'er  shall  comb  his  raven-hair,^ 
Nor  wash  his  visage  in  the  stream. 
Nor  see  the  sun's  departing  beam, 
Till  he  on  Hoder's  corse  shall  smile 
Flaming  on  the  funeral  pile. 

1  King  Harold  made  (according  to  the  singular  custom  of  his  time)  a 
solemn  vow  never  to  clip  or  comb  his  hair,  till  he  should  have  extended  his 
sway  over  the  whole  country.    Herbert's  Iceland.     Translat.  p.  39. 


THE   DESCENT   OF   ODIN.  143 

Now  my  weary  lips  I  close : 
Leave  me,  leave  me  to  repose. 

ODIN. 

Yet  awhile  my  call  obey ; 
Prophetess,  awake,  and  say, 
What  virgins  these,  in  speechless  woe,^ 
That  bend  to  earth  their  solemn  brow, 
That  their  flaxen  tresses  tear, 
And  snowy  veils  that  float  in  air? 
Tell  me  whence  their  sorrows  rose  ; 
Then  I  leave  thee  to  repose. 

PROPHETESS. 

Ha !   no  traveller  art  thou, 
King  of  men,  I  know  thee  now  ; 
Mightiest  of  a  mighty  line 

^  "It  is  not  certain,"  says  Mr.  Herbert,  "what  Odin  means  by  the  ques- 
tion concerning  the  weeping  virgins  ;  but  it  has  been  supposed  that  it  alludes 
to  the  embassy  afterwards  sent  by  Frigga  to  try  to  redeem  Balder  from  the 
infernal  regions,  and  that  Odin  betrays  his  divinity  by  mentioning  what  had 
not  yet  happened."     Iceland.  Translat.  p.  48. 


144  THE   DESCENT   OF   ODIN. 


No  boding  maid  of  skill  divine 
Art  thou,  nor  prophetess  of  good ; 
But  mother  of  the  giant  brood  !^ 

PROPHETESS. 

Hie  thee  hence,  and  boast  at  home, 
That  never  shall  inquirer  come 
To  break  my  iron-sleep  again ; 
Till  Lok  has  burst  his  tenfold  chain  f 
Never,  till  substantial  night 
Has  reassumed  her  ancient  right ; 
Till  wrapp'd  in  flames,  in  ruin  hurl'd, 
Sinks  the  fabric  of  the  world. 

i  In  the  Latin,  "mater  trium  gigantum  :"  probably  Angerbode,  whc 
from  her  name  seems  to  be  "no  prophetess  of  good;"  and  who  bore  to 
Loko.  as  the  Edda  says,  three  children,  the  wolf  Fenris,  the  great  serpent 
of  Midgard,  and  Hela,  all  of  them  called  giants  in  that  system  of  mythology. 
Mason. 

2  Lok  is  the  evil  being,  who  continues  in  chains  till  the  twilight  of  the  gods 
approaches  :  when  he  shall  break  his  bonds,  the  human  race,  the  stars,  and 
sun  shall  disappear  ;  the  earth  sink  in  the  seas,  and  fire  consume  the  skies  : 
even  Odin  himself  and  his  kindred  deities  shall  perish.     Mason. 


JW  JHi|iD()t)3  of  Otoen. 


A   FRAGMENT. 


From  Mr.  Evans's  Specimens  of  the  Welsh  Poetry  :  London,  1764,  quarto,  p, 
25,  and  p.  127.  Owen  succeeded  his  father  GriflSth  app  Cynan  in  the  prin- 
cipality of  North  Wales,  A.D.  1137.  This  battle  was  fought  in  the  year 
1157.    Jones's  Relics^  vol.  ii.  p.  36. 


Owen's  praise  demands  my  song, 
Owen  swift  and  Owen  strong ; 
Fairest  flower  of  Roderic's  stem, 
Gwyneth's'  shield,  and  Britain's  gem. 

*  The  original  Welsh  of  the  above  poem  was  the  composition  of  Grwalchmai 
the  son  of  Melir,  immediately  after  Prince  Owen  Gwynedd  had  defeated  the 
combined  fleets  of  Iceland,  Denmark,  and  Norway,  which  had  invaded  his 
territory  on  the  coast  of  Anglesea. 

»  North  Wales. 


146  THE   TRIUMPHS   OF   OWEN. 

He  nor  heaps  his  brooded  stores, 
Nor  on  all  profusely  pours ; 
Lord  of  every  regal  art. 
Liberal  hand,  and  open  heart. 

Big  with  hosts  of  mighty  name, 
Squadrons  three  against  him  came  ; 
This  the  force  of  Eirin  hiding, 
Side  by  side  as  proudly  riding, 
On  her  shadow  long  and  gay 
Lochlin^  ploughs  the  watery  way  ; 
There  the  Norman  sails  afar 
Catch  the  winds  and  join  the  war ; 
Black  and  huge  along  they  sweep. 
Burdens  of  the  angry  deep. 

Dauntless  on  his  native  sands 
The  dragon  son  of  Mona  stands  ;" 

1  Denmark. 

*  The  red  dragon  is  the  device  of  Cadwallader.  which  all  his  descendants 
bore  on  their  banners.     Mason. 


THE  TRIUMPHS   OF  OWEN.  147 

In  glittering  arms  and  glory  dress'd, 
High  he  rears  his  ruby  crest. 
There  the  thundering  strokes  begin,' 
There  the  press,  and  there  the  din  ; 
Talymalfra's  rocky  shore 
Echoing  to  the  battle's  roar. 
Check'd  by  the  torrent  tide  of  blood, 
Backward  Meinai  rolls  his  flood  ; 
While,  heap'd  his  master's  feet  around, 
Prostrate  warriors  gnaw  the  ground. 

Where  his  glowing  eyeballs  turn^ 
Thousand  banners  round  him  burn, 
Where  he  points  his  purple  spear, 
Hasty,  hasty  rout  is  there. 
Marking  with  indignant  eye 
Fear  to  r.top,  and  shame  to  fly. 

1  "  It  seems  (says  Dr.  Evans,  p.  26,)  that  the  fleet  landed  in  some  part  of 
the  firth  of  Menai,  and  that  it  was  a  kind  of  mixed  engagement,  some  fighting 
from  the  shore,  others  from  the  ships ;  and  probably  the  great  slaughter  was 
owing  to  its  being  low  water,  and  that  they  could  not  sail. 


148  THE   TRIUMPHS   OF   OWEN. 

There  confusion,  terror's  child. 
Conflict  fierce,  and  ruin  wild, 
Agony,  that  pants  for  breath, 
Despair,  and  honorable  death. 


Jt)^  '^e^i\)  of  ifoei. 


Selected  from  the  Gododin  of  Aneurin,*  styled  the  Monarch  of  the  Bards 
He  flourished  about  the  time  of  Taliessin,  A.D.  570.  See  Mr.  Evans's 
Specimens,  p.  71  and  73. 

Had  I  but  the  torrent's  might, 

With  headlong  rage  and  wild  affright 

Upon  Deira's  squadrons  hurl'd' 

To  rush,  and  sweep  them  from  the  world  ! 

*  Aneurin  with  the  flowing  Muse,  King  of  Bards,  brother  to  Gildas  Alba- 
nius  the  historian,  lived  under  Mynyddawg  of  Edinburgh,  a  prince  of  the 
North,  whose  Burdorchogion,  or  warriors  wearing  the  golden  torques,  three 
hundred  and  sixty-three  in  number,  were  all  slain,  except  Aneurin  and  two 
others,  in  a  battle  with  the  Saxons  at  Cattraeth.  on  the  eastern  coast  of  York 
shire.  His  Gododin,  an  heroic  poem  written  on  that  event,  is  perhaps  the 
oldest  and  noblest  production  of  that  age."     Jones's  Relics,  vol.  i.  p.  17. 

1  The  kingdom  of  Deira  included  the  counties  of  Yorkshire,  Durham,  Lan 
cashire,  Westmoreland,  and  Cumberland. 

13* 


160  THE   DEATH   OF   HOEL. 

Too,  too  secure  in  youthful  pride, 
By  them,  my  friend,  my  Hoel,  died, 
Grreat  Cian's  son  :    of  Madoc  old 
He  ask'd  no  heaps  of  hoarded  gold  ; 
Alone  in  nature's  wealth  array'd. 
He  ask'd  and  had  the  lovely  maid. 

To  Cattraeth's  vale  in  glittering  row, 
Thrice  two  hundred  warriors  go  : 
*  Every  warrior's  manly  neck 

Chains  of  regal  honor  deck, 
Wreathed  in  many  a  golden  link  : 
From  the  golden  cup  they  drink 
Nectar  that  the  bees  produce, 
Or  the  grape's  ecstatic  juice. 
Flush'd  with  mirth  and  hope  they  burn : 
But  none  from  Cattraeth's  vale  return. 
Save  Aeron  brave,  and  Couan  strong, 
(Bursting  through  the  bloody  throng) 
And  I,  the  meanest  of  them  all, 
That  live  to  weep  and  sing  their  fall. 


FRAGMENTS.  151 


Have  ye  seen  the  tusky  boar/ 
Or  the  bull  with  sullen  roar, 
On  surrounding  foes  advance? 
So  Caradoc  bore  his  lance. 


Conan's  name,  my  lay,  rehearse, 
Build  to  him  the  lofty  verse,  • 
Sacred  tribute  of  the  bard, 
Yerse,  the  hero's  sole  reward. 
As  the  flame's  devouring  force  ; 
As  the  whirlwind  in  its  course  ; 
As  the  thunder's  fiery  stroke. 
Glancing  on  the  shiver 'd  oak ; 
Bid  the  sword  of  Conan  mow 
The  crimson  harvest  of  the  foe. 

-  This  and  the  following  short  fragment  ought  to  have  appeared  among 
the  Posthumous  Pieces  of  Grray  ;  but  it  was  thought  preferable  to  insert  them 
in  this  place  with  the  preceding  fragment  from  the  Gododin. 


ON    MES.     CLARKE. 

Lo  !    where  this  silent  marble  weeps, 
A  friend,  a  wife,  a  mother  sleeps  : 
A  heart,  within  whose  sacred  cell 
The  peaceful  virtues  loved  to  dwell. 
Affection  warm,  and  faith  sincere. 
And  soft  humanity  were  there. 
In  agony,  in  death  resign'd, 
She  felt  the  wound  she  left  behind. 
Her  infant  image  here  below 
Sits  smiling  on  a  father's  woe : 


EPITAPH   ON   MRS.  CLARKE.  158 

Whom  what  awaits,  while  yet  he  strays 

Along  the  lonely  vale  of  days  ? 

A  pang,  to  secret  sorrow  dear ; 

A  sigh ;    an  unavailing  tear ; 

Till  time  shall  every  grief  remove, 

With  life,  with  memory,  and  with  love. 


ON    SIR    WILLIAM    WILLIAMS. 

Written  at  the  request  of  Mr.  Frederick  Montagu,  who  intended  to  have* 
inscribed  it  on  a  monument  at  Bellisle,  at  the  siege  of  which  Sir  W. 
Williams  was  killed,   1761. 

Here,  foremost  in  the  dangerous  paths  of  fame, 
Young  Williams  fought  for  England's  fair  renown; 

His  mind  each  Muse,  each  Glrace  adorn'd  his  frame, 
Nor  envj  dared  to  view  him  with  a  frown. 

At  Aix,  his  voluntary  sword  he  drew, 

There  first  in  blood  his  infant  honor  seal'd  ; 

From  fortune,  pleasure,  science,  love,  he  flew. 
And  scorn'd  repose  when  Britain  took  the  field. 


EPITAPH   ON  SIR  WILLIAM  WILLIAMS.  155 

With  eyes  of  flame,  and  cool  undaunted  breast, 
Victor' he  stood  on  Bellisle's  rocky  steeps — 

Ah,  gallant  youth  !    this  marble  tells  the  rest. 
Where  melancholy  friendship  bends,  and  weeps. 


ON    THE    DEATH    OF    MR.   WEST. 

In  vain  to  me  the  smiling  mornings  shine, 

And  reddening  Phoebus  lifts  his  golden  fire : 
The  birds  in  vain  their  amorous  descant  join  ; 

Or  cheerful  fields  resume  their  green  attire  : 
These  ears,  alas  !    for  other  notes  repine, 

A  different  object  do  these  eyes  require  : 
My  lonely  anguish  melts  no  heart  but  mine  ; 

And  in  my  breast  the  imperfeci;  joys  expire. 
Yet  morning  smiles  the  busy  race  to  cheer, 

And  new-born  pleasure  brings  to  happier  men  : 
The  fields  to  all  their  wonted  tribute  bear : 

To  warm  their  little  loves  the  birds  complain  : 
I  fruitless  mourn  to  him  that  cannot  hear, 

And  weep  the  more,  because  T  weep  in  vain. 


^  |.o()g  Sfoi-a. 


In  the  year  1750,  Mr.  Gray  finished  his  celebrated  Elegy,  and  communicated 
it  to  his  friend  Mr.  Walpole,  whose  good  taste  was  too  much  charmed  to 
suffer  him  to  withhold  the  sight  of  it  from  his  acquaintance  ;  accordingly  it 
was  shown  about  for  some  time  in  manuscript,  and  received  with  all  the 
applause  it  so  justly  merited.  Amongst  the  rest  of  the  fashionable  world, 
Lady  Cobham,  who  resided  at  Stoke -Pogis,  and  to  whom  the  mansion-house 
and  park  belonged,  had  read  and  admired  it  Wishing  to  be  acquainted 
with  the  author,  her  relation  Miss  Speed,  and  Lady  Schaub  then  at  her 
house,  undertook  to  bring  this  about,  by  making  him  the  first  visit.  He 
had  been  accustomed  to  spend  his  summer  vacntions  from  Cambridge,  at  the 
house  occupied  by  Mrs.  Rogers  his  aunt,  whither  his  mother  and  her  sister, 
Miss  Antrobus.  had  also  retired,  situated  at  the  entrance  upon  Stoke  Com- 
mon, called  West  End,  and  about  a  mile  from  the  manor  house.  He 
happened  to  be  from  home  when  the  ladies  arrived  at  the  sequestered  hab- 
itation, and  when  he  returned,  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  find,  written  on 
one  of  his  papers  in  the  parlor,  the  following  note  :  "  Lady  Schaub's  com- 
pliments to  Mr.  Gray  ;  she  is  sorry  not  to  have  found  him  at  home,  to  tell 
him  that  Lady  Brown  ia  very  well."  Such  a  compliment  necessitated  him 
to  return  the  visit ;  and  as  the  beginniny  of  the  acquaintance  seemed  to 

14 


158  A   LONG   STORY. 

have  a  romantic  character,  he  very  soon  composed  the  following  ludicrous 
account  of  the  adventure,  for  the  amusement  of  the  ladies  in  question, 
which  he  entitled,  "  A  Long  Story." 


In  Britain's  isle,  no  matter  where, 
An  ancient  pile  of  building  stands  :^ 

The  Huntingdons  and  Hattons  there 
Employed  the  power  of  fairy  hands 

To  raise  the  ceiling's  fretted  height,^ 
Each  pannel  in  achievements  clothing, 

Eich  windows  that  exclude  the  light. 
And  passages,  that  lead  to  nothing. 

1  In  the  16th  century,  the  house  belonged  to  the  Earls  of  Huntingdon,  and 
to  the  family  of  Hatton.  On  the  death  of  Lady  Cobham,  1760,  the  estate  was 
purchased  from  her  executors  by  the  late  Hon.  Thomas  Penn,  Lord  Proprie- 
tary of  Pennsylvania  :  his  son,  the  present  John  Penn,  Esq.,  finding  the 
interior  of  the  ancient  mansion  in  a  state  of  considerable  decay,  it  was  taken 
down  in  the  year  1789,  with  the  exception  of  a  wing,  which  was  preserved, 
partly  for  the  sake  of  its  effect  as  a  ruin,  harmonizing  with  the  churchyard, 
the  poet's  house,  and  the  surrounding  scenery. 

2  The  style  of  building  called  Queen  Elizabeth's  is  here  admirably  de- 
scribed, both  with  regard  to  its  beauties  and  defects  ;  the  third  and  fourth 
stanzas  delineate  the  fantastic  manners  of  the  time  with  equal  truth  and 
humor 


A  LONG  STORY.  15^ 

Full  oft  within  the  spacious  walls, 

When  he  had  fifty  winters  o'er  him, 
My  grave  Lord-keeper^  led  the  brawls  :^ 

The  seals  and  maces  danced  before  him. 

His  bushy  beard,  and  shoestrings  green, 
±Iis  high  crown'd  hat  and  satin  doublet, 

Moved  the  stout  heart  of  England's  queen, 

Though  Pope  and  Spaniard  could  not  trouble  it. 

What,  in  the  very  first  beginning ! 

Shame  of  the  versifying  tribe  ! 
Your  history  whither  are  you  spinning? 

Can  you  do  nothing  but  describe? 

A  house  there  is  (and  that's  enough). 
From  whence  one  fatal  morning  issues 

•  Sir  Christopher  Hatton,  promoted  by  Queen  Elizabeth  for  his  graceful 
person  and  fine  dancing. 

2  Brawls  were  figure-dances  then  in  fashion. 


160  A  LONG  STORY. 

A  brace  of  warriors,  not  in  buff, 

*  But  rustling  in  their  silks  and  tissues. 

The  j&rst  came  cap-a-pee  from  France/ 

Her  conquering  destiny  fulfilling, 
Whom  meaner  beauties  eye  askance. 

And  vainly  ape  her  art  of  killing.  • 

The  other  amazon^  kind  heaven 

Had  arm'd  with  spirit,  wit,  and  satire  ; 

But  Cobham  had  the  polish  given, 

And  tipp'd  her  arrows  with  good  nature. 

To  celebrate  her  eyes,  her  air — 
'  Coarse  panegyrics  would  but  tease  her, 
Melissa  is  her  "nom  de  guerre." 

Alas,  who  would  not  wish  to  please  her  ! 

'  The  Lady's  husband,  Sir  Luke  Schaub,  had  been  ambassador  at  Paris 
gome  years  before. 

2  Miss  Harriet  Speed,  Lady  C.'s  relation,  afterwards  married  to  the  Count 
de  Viry,  Sardinian  envoy  at  the  court  of  London. 


A   LONG  STOKY.  161 

With  bonnet  blue  and  eapuchine, 

And  aprons  long,  they  hid  their  arinor  ; 
And  veil'd  their  weapons,  bright  and  keen, 

In  pity  to  the  country  farmer. 

Fame,  in  the  shape  of  Mr.  Purt,^ 

(By  this  time  all  the  parish  know  it) 
Had  told  that  thereabouts  there  lurk'd 

A  wicked  imp  they  call  a  poet : 

Who  prowl'd  the  country  far  and  near, 

Bewitch'd  the  children  of  the  peasants. 
Dried  up  the  cows,  and  lamed  the  deer. 

And  suck'd  the  eggs,  and  killed  the  pheasants. 

My  lady  heard  their  joint  petition. 

Swore  by  her  coronet  and  ermine. 
She'd  issue  out  her  high  commission 

To  rid  the  manor  of  such  vermin.^ 

1  The  Rev.  Mr.  Purt,  tutor  to  the  Duke  of  Bridgwater,  then  at  Eton  school.  ^p 

2  Henry  the  Fourth,  in  the  fourth  year  of  his  reign,  issued  out  the  following 

14* 


162  A  LONG  STORY. 

The  heroines  undertook  the  task, 

Through  lanes  unknown,  o'er  stiles  they  ventured,' 
Rapp'd  at  the  door,  nor  stay'd  to  ask, 

But  bounce  into  the  parlor  enter'd. 

The  trembling  family  they  daunt. 

They  flirt,  they  sing,  they  laugh,  they  tattle, 

Rummage  his  mother,  pinch  his  aunt. 
And  up  stairs  in  a  whirlwind  rattle : 

Each  hole  and  cupboard  they  explore, 
Each  creek  and  cranny  of  his  chamber. 

Run  hurry-skurry  round  the  floor. 

And  o'er  the  bed  and  tester  clamber  : 


commission  against  this  species  of  vermin: — "And  it  is  enacted,  that  no 
master-rimOur,  minstrel,  or  other  vagabond,  be  in  any  wise  sustained  in  the 
land  ofWales  to  make  commoiths,  or  gatherings  upon  the  people  there." 

'  The  walk  from  Stoke  old  mansion,  to  the  house  occupied  by  the  poet's 
family,  is  peculiarly  retired.  The  house  is  the  property  of  Captain  Salter, 
and  it  has  belonged  to  his  family  for  many  generations.  It  is  a  charming 
spot  for  a  summer  residence,  but  has  undergone  great  alterations  and  im- 
provements since  Gray  gave  it  up  in  1758. 


A  LONG  STORY.  163 

Into  the  drawers  and  china  pry, 

Papers  and  books,  a  huge  imbroglio  ! 

Under  a  teacup  he  might  lie, 

Or,  creased,  like  dog's-ears,  in  a  folio. 

On  the  first  marching  of  the  troops, 

The  Muses,  hopeless  of  his  pardon, 
Convey'd  him  underneath   their  hoops 

To  a  small  closet  in  the  garden. 

So  rumor  says :    (who  will,  believe  ?) 

But  that  they  left  the  door  ajar, 
Where,  safe  and  laughing  in  his  sleeve, 

He  heard  the  distant  din  of  war. 

Short  was  his  joy.     He  little  knew 

The  power  of  magic  was  no  fable ; 
Out  of  the  window,  whisky  they  flew, 

But  left  a  spell  upon  the  table.  ^ 

1  The  note  which  the  ladies  left  upon  the  table. 


164  A  LONG  STORY. 

The  words  too  eager  to  unriddle. 

The  poet  felt  a  strange  disorder  ; 
Transparent  bird-lime  form'd  the  middle, 

And  chains  invisible  the  border. 

So  cunning  was  the  apparatus, 

The  powerful  pot-hooks  did  so  move  him 
That,  will  he,  nill  he.  to  the  great  house, 

He  went,  as  if  the  devil  drove  lii^n. 

Yet  on  his  way  (no  sign  of  grace. 
For  folks  in  fear  are  apt  to  pray) 

To  Phoebus  he  preferr'd  his  case. 

And  begg'd  his  aid  that  dreadful  day. 

The  godhead  would  have  back'd  his  quarrel ; 

But  with  a  blush,  on  recollection, 
Own'd  that  his  quiver  and  his  laurel 

'Gainst  four  such  eyes  were  no  protection. 


A  LONG  STORY.  165 

The  court  was  sat,  the  culprit  there, . 

Forth  from  their  gloomy  mansions  creeping, 
The  lady  Janes  and  Joans  repair. 

And  from  the  gallery^  stand  peeping : 

Such  as  in  silence  of  the  night 

Come  (sweep)  along  some  winding  entry, 

(Tyacke^  has  often  seen  the  sight) 
Or  at  the  chapel  door  stood  sentry  :^ 

In  peaked  hoods  and  mantles  tarnish'd. 

Sour  visages  enough  to  scare  ye, 
High  dames  of  honor  once,  that  garnish'd 

The  drawing-room  of  fierce  Queen  Mary. 

1  The  music-gallery,  which  overlooked  the  hall. 

2  The  housekeeper.  Her  name  which  has  hitherto,  in  all  editions  of  Gray's 
PoemSj  been  written  Styack,  is  corrected  from  her  gravestone  in  the  church- 
yard, and  the  accounts  of  contemporary  persons  in  the  parish.  Housekeepers 
are  usually  styled  Mrs. ;  the  final  s,  doubtless  caused  the  name  to  be  misap- 
prehended and  misspelt. 

3  The  old  chapel,  the  door  of  which  was  at  the  opposite  extremity  of  the 
hall. 


166  A   LONG  STORY. 

The  peeress  comes.     The  audience  stare, 
And  doff  their  hats  with  due  submission : 

She  curtsies,  as  she  takes  her  chair 
To  all  the  people  of  condition. 

The  bard,  with  many  an  artful  fib, 

Had  in  imagination  fenced  him, 
Disproved  the  arguments  of  Squib,^ 

And  all  that  G-room'  could  urge  against  him. 

But  soon  his  rhetoric  forsook  him. 
When  he  the  solemn  hall  had  seen  ; 

A  sudden  fit  of  ague  shook  him, 

He  stood  as  mute  as  poor  Macleane,^ 

Yet  something  he  was  heard  to  mutter, 
"How  in  the   Park  beneath  an  old  tree 

1  The  former  has  h'therto  been  styled  groom  of  the  chamber,  and  the  latter 
steward,  but  the  legend  on  a  gravestone,  close  to  Tyacke^s,  is  to  the  memory 
of  William  Groom,  and  appears  to  offer  evidence  that  Grray  mistook  the  name 
of  the  one  for  the  office  of  the  other. 

2  A  famous  highwayman  hanged  the  week  before. 


A  LONG  STORY.  167 

(Without  design  to  hurt  the  butter, 
Or  any  malice  to  the  poultry), 

•'  He  once  or  twice  had  penn'd  a  sonnet ; 

Yet  hoped  that  he  might  save  his  bacon  : 
Numbers  would  give  their  oaths  upon  it, 

He  ne'er  was  for  a  conjurer  taken." 

The  ghostly  prudes  with  hagged  face 

Already  had  condemn'd  the  sinner. 
My  lady  rose,  and  with  a  grace — 

She  smiled,  and  bid  him  come  to  dinner. 

^'  Jesu-Maria  !    Madam  Bridget, 

Why,  what  can  the  viscountess  mean  ? 

(Cried  the  square-hoods  in  woful  fidget) 
The  times  are  alter'd  quite  and  clean 

"  Decorum's  turn'd  to  mere  civility  ; 
Her  air  and  all  her  manners  show  it. 


168  A   LONG  STORY. 

Commend  me  to  her  affability ! 
Speak  to  a  commoner  and  poet !" 

[Here  five  hundred  stanzas  are  lost.] 

And  so  Grod  save  our  noble  king, 

And  guard  us  from  long-winded  lubbers. 

That  to  eternity  would  sing, 

And  keep  my  lady  from  her  rubbers. 


Jt*^^§l^tioo  of  ^  2^§§^^e  fi-ohf)  Sf^tiii?. 

THEB.   LIB.    VI.   VER.    701-724. 

This  translation,  which  Gray  sent  to  West,  consisted  of  about  a  hundred 
and  ten  lines.  Mr.  Mason  selected  twenty-seven  lines,  which  he  pub- 
lished, as  Gray's  first  attempt  in  English  verse. 

Third  in  the  labors  of  the  disc  came  on, 
With  sturdy  step  and  slow,  Hippomedon  ; 
Artful  and  strong  he  poised  the  well-known  weight, 
By  Phlegyas  warn'd,  and  fired  by  Mnestheus'  fate, 
That  to  avoid,  and  this  to  emulate. 
His  vigorous  arm  he  tried  before  he  flung, 
Braced  all  his  nerves,  and  every  sinew  strung, 
Then,  with  a  tempest's  whirl,  and  wary  eye, 
Pursued  his  cast,  and  hurl'd  the  orb  on  high  ; 
15 


170  TRANSLATION    FROM    STATIUS. 

The  orb  on  high  tenacious  of  its  course. 

True  to  the  mighty  arm  that  gave  it  force, 

Far  overleaps  all  bound,  and  joys  to  see 

Its  ancient  lord  secure  of  victory. 

The  theatre's  green  height  and  woody  wall 

Tremble  ere  it  precipitates  its  fall ; 

The  ponderous  mass  sinks  in  the  cleaving  ground, 

While  vales  and  woods  and  echoing  hills  rebound. — 

As  when  from  Etna's  smoking  summit  broke. 

The  eyeless  Cyclops  heaved  the  craggy  rock ; 

Where  Ocean  frets  beneath  the  dashing  oar, 

And  parting  surges  round  the  vessel  roar  ; 

'Twas  there  he  aim'd  the  meditated  harm. 

And  scarce  Ulysses  scaped  his  giant  arm. 

A  tiger's  pride  the  victor  bore  away, 

With  native  spots  and  artful  labor  gay, 

A  shining  border  round  the  margin  roU'd, 

And  calm'd  the  terrors  of  his  claws  in  gold. 

Cambridge,  May  8,  1736. 


Jhe  ^lll^^ee  of  i^i|Ci|tioi]  ^^9  6iobehih)eol. 


A    FRAGMENT. 


"  Instead  of  compiling  tables  of  chronology  and  natural  history,  why  did  not 
Mr.  Gray  apply  the  jjowers  of  his  genius  to  finish  the  philosophic  poem  of 
which  he  has  left  such  an  exquisite  specimen?"     Gibbon. 

ESSAY   I 

lidray*  tj'  yade'  rdv  yap  uolSuv 

'OvTi  TTW  elg  Atdav  ye  rbv  eKTieXdOovra  (f)v2,a^ELg. 

THKOCRITUS,  ID.  I.  63. 

As  sickly  plants  betray  a  niggard  earth, 
Whose  barren  bosom  starves  her  generous  birth, 
Nor  genial  warmth,  nor  genial  juice  retains. 
Their  roots  to  feed,  and  fill  their  verdant  veins : 
And  as  in  climes,  where  winter  holds  his  reign, 
The  soil,  though  fertile,  will  not  teem  in  vain. 
Forbids  her  gems  to  swell,  her  shades  to  rise, 
Nor  trusts  her  blossoms  to  the  churlish  skies  . 
So  draw  mankind  in  vain  the  vital  airs, 
Unform'd,  unfriended,  by  those  kindly  cares. 


172  ALLIANCE    OF   EDUCATION 

That  health  and  vigor  to  the  soul  impart. 

Spread  the  young  thought,  and  warm  the  opening  heart : 

So  fond  instruction  on  the  growing  powers 

Of  nature  idly  lavishes  her  stores, 

[f  equal  justice  with  unclouded  face 

Smile  not  indulgent  on  the  rising  race, 

And  scatter  with  a  free  though  frugal  hand, 

Light  golden  showers  of  plenty  o'er  the  land : 

But  tyranny  has  fix'd  her  empire  there, 

To  check  their  tender  hopes  with  chilling  fear, 

And  blast  the  blooming  promise  of  the  year. 

This  spacious  animated  scene  survey. 
From  where  the  rolling  orb,  that  gives  the  day, 
Ills  sable  sons  with  nearer  course  surrounds 
To  either  pole,  and  life's  remotest  bounds. 
How  rude  soe'er  the'  exterior  form  we  find, 
Howe'er  opinion  tinge  the  varied  mind, 
Alike  t"*  all,  the  kind,  impartial  Heaven 
The  sparks  of  truth  and  happiness  has  given . 


AND   GOVERNMENT.  173 

With  sense  to  feel,  with  memory  to  retain, 

They  follow  pleasure,  and  they  fly  from  pain  j 

Their  judgment  mends  the  plan  their  fancy 

The'  event  presages,  and  explores  the  cause  ; 

The  soft  returns  of  gratitude  they  know, 

By  fraud  elude,  by  force  repel  the  foe ; 

While  mutual  wishes,  mutual  woes  endear 

The  social  smile  and  sympathetic  tear. 

Say,  then,  through  ages  by  what  fate  confined 

To  different  climes  seem  different  souls  assign'd? 

Here  measured  laws  and  philosophic  ease 

Fix,  and  improve  the  polish'd  arts  of  peace ; 

There  industry  and  gain  their  vigils  keep. 

Command  the  winds,  and  tame  the'  unwilling  deep : 

Here  force  and  hardy  deeds  of  blood  prevail ; 

There  languid  pleasure  sighs  in  every  gale. 

Oft  o'er  the  trembling  nations  from  afar 

Has  Scythia  breathed  the  living  cloud  of  war ; 

And,  where  the  deluge  burst,  with  sweepy  sway 

Their  arms,  their  kings,  their  gods  were  roll'd  away. 
15* 


174  ALLIANCE   OF   EDUCATION 

As  oft  have  issued,  host  impelling  host 

The  blue-eyed  myriads  from  the  Baltic  coast. 

The  prostrate  south  to  the  destroyer  yields 

Her  boasted  titles,  and  her  golden  fields : 

With  grim  delight  the  brood  of  winter  view 

A  brighter  day,  and  heavens  of  azure  hue 

Scent  the  new  fragrance  of  the  breathing  rose, 

And  quaff  the  pendent  vintage  as  it  grows. 

Proud  of  the  yoke,  and  pliant  to  the  rod. 

Why  yet  does  Asia  dread  a  monarch's  nod, 

While  European  freedom  still  withstands 

The'  encroaching  tide  that  diowns  her  lessening  lands ; 

And  sees  far  off,  with  an  indignant  groan, 

Her  native  plains,  and  empires  once  her  own? 

Can  opener  skies  and  suns  of  fiercer  flame 

O'erpower  the  fire  that  animates  our  frame ; 

As  lamps,  that  shed  at  eve  a  cheerful  ray, 

Fade  and  expire  beneath  the  eye  of  day? 

Need  we  the  influence  of  the  northern  star 

To  string  our  nerves,  and  steel  our  hearts  to  war? 


AND   GOVEENMENT.  175 

And,  where  the  face  of  nature  laughs  around 

Must  sickening  virtue  fly  the  tainted  ground  ? 

Unmanly  thought !   what  seasons  can  control, 

What  fancied  zone  can  circumscribe  the  soul, 

Who,  conscious  of  the  source  from  whence  she  springs, 

By  reason's  light  on  resolution's  wings, 

Spite  of  her  frail  companion,  dauntless  goes 

O'er  Libya's  deserts  and  through  Zembla's  snows? 

She  bids  each  slumbering  energy  awake, 

Another  touch,  another  temper  take, 

Suspends  the'  inferior  laws  that  rule  our  clay  : 

The  stubborn  elements  confess  her  sway ; 

Their  little  wants,  their  low  desires,  refine. 

And  raise  the  mortal  to  a  height  divine. 

Not  but  the  human  fabric  from  the  birth 
Imbibes  a  flavor  of  its  parent  earth : 
As  various  tracts  enforce  a  various  toil. 
The  manners  speak  the  idiom  of  their  soil. 
An  iron  race  the  mountain  cliffs  maintain, 
Foes  to  the  gentler  genius  of  the  plain : 


176  ALLIANCE   OF   EDUCATION 

For  where  unwearied  sinews  must  be  found 

With  side-long  plough  to  quell  the  flinty  ground, 

To  turn  the  torrent's  swift-descending  flood, 

To  brave  the  savage  rushing  from  the  wood, 

What  wonder,  if,  to  patient  valor  train'd, 

They  guard  with  spirit,  what  by  strength  they  gain'd  ? 

And  while  their  rocky  ramparts  round  they  see. 

The  rough  abode  of  want  and  liberty, 

(As  lawless  force  from  confidence  will  grow) 

Insult  the  plenty  of  the  vales  below  ? 

What  wonder,  in  the  sultry  climes,  that  spread 

Where  Nile  redundant  o'er  his  summer  bed 

From  his  broad  bosom  life  and  verdure  flings. 

And  broods  o'er  Egypt  with  his  watery  wings. 

If  with  adventurous  oar  and  ready  sail, 

The  dusky  people  drive  before  the  gale  ; 

Or  on  frail  floats  to  neighboring  cities  ride, 

That  rise  and  glitter  o'er  the  ambient  tide 


Sl^^z^g  fo  lyFh  Seoilelj. 


Mr.  Bentley  had  made  a  set  of  designs  for  Mr.  Gray's  Poems,  particular^* 
ly  a  headpiece  to  the  Long  Story.  The  original  drawings  are  in  the 
library  at  Strawberry  Hill. 


In  silent  gaze  the  tuneful  choir  among, 

Half  pleased,  half  blushing,  let  the  Muse  admire, 

While  Bentley  leads  her  sister  art  along, 
And  bids  the  pencil  answer  to  the  lyre. 

See,  in  their  course,  each  transitory  thought 
Fix'd  by  his  touch  a  lasting  essence  take  ; 

Each  dream,  in  fancy's  airy  coloring  wrought 
To  local  symmetry  and  life  awake  ! 


178  STANZAS  TO   MR.   BENTLEY. 

The  tardy  rhymes  that  used  to  linger  on, 
To  censure  cold,  and  negligent  of  fame. 

In  swifter  measures  animated  run, 

And  catch  a  lustre  from  his  genuine  flame. 

Ah  !    could  they  catch  his  strength,  his  easy  grace, 
His  quick  creation,  his  unerring  line  ; 

The  energy  of  Pope  they  might  efface, 
And  Dryden's  harmony  submit  to  mine. 

But  not  to  one  in  this  benighted  age 

Is  that  diviner  inspiration  given, 
That  burns  in  Shakspeare's  or  in  Milton's  page, 

The  pomp  and  prodigality  of  heaven. 

As  when,  conspiring  in  the  diamond's  blaze, 
The  meaner  gems,  that  singly  charm  the  sight, 

Together  dart  their  intermingled  rays, 
And  dazzle  with  a  luxury  of  light. 


STANZAS  TO   MR.  BENTLEY.  179 

Enough  for  me,  if  to  some  feeling  breast 
My  lines  a  secret  sympathy  "  impart ;" 

And  as  their  pleasing  influence  "flows  confest," 
A  sigh  of  soft  reflection  "  heaves  the  heart." 


Sl^efch  of  \)h  otoo  ^\)^^^oiet 

WRITTEN   IN    I'ZSl,    AND    FOUND    IN    ONE    OF   HIS    rOOKET   BOOKS. 

Too  poor  for  a  bribe,  and  too  proud  to  importune  ; 

He  had  not  the  method  of  making  a  fortune  : 

Could  love,  and  could  hate,  so  was  thought  somewhat  odd  ; 

No  very  great  wit,  he  believed  in  a  Grod : 

A  post  or  a  pension  he  did  not  desire, 

But  left  church  and  state  to  Charles  Townshend  and  Squire.* 

1  At  that  time  Fellow  of  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge,  and  afterwards 
Bishop  of  St.  David's. 


00  tt)^  ^le^^n^e  ^Hgl^g  fl^oiof)  iiielggitiiOe. 


Left  unfinished  b}   Mr.  Gray.    With  additions  by  Mr.  Mason,  distinguished 
by  inverted  commas. 


Now  the  golden  morn  aloft 

Waves  her  dew-bespangled  wing, 
With  vermeil  cheek  and  whisper  soft 

She  woos  the  tardy  spring : 
Till  April  starts,  and  calls  around 
The  sleeping  fragrance  from  the  ground ; 
And  lightly  o'er  the  living  scene 
Scatters  his  freshest,  tenderest  green. 

New-born  flocks,  in  rustic  dance. 

Frisking  ply  their  feeble  feet ; 
16 


182  OK    VICISSITUDE. 

Forgetful  of  their  wintry  trance, 
The  birds  his  presence  greet : 
But  chief,  the  sky-lark  warbles  high 
His  trembling  thrilling  ecstasy ; 
And,  lessening  from  the  dazzled  sight, 
Melts  into  air  and  liquid  light. 

Rise,  my  soul !    on  wings  of  fire. 

Rise  the  rapturous  choir  among  ; 
Hark  !    'tis  nature  strikes  the  lyre, 

And  leads  the  general  song : 
Warm  let  the  lyric  transport  flow, 
Warm  as  the  ray  that  bids  it  glow  ; 
And  animates  the  vernal  grove 
With  health,  with  harmony,  and  love." 

Yesterday  the  sullen  year 

Saw  the  snowy  whirlwind  fly ; 

Mute  was  the  music  of  the  air. 
The  herd  stood  drooping  by : 


ON    VICISSITUDE.  183 

Their  raptures  now  that  wildly  flow. 
No  yesterday  nor  morrow  know ; 
'Tis  man  alone  that  joy  depcries 
With  forward  and  reverted  eyes. 

Smiles  on  past  misfortune's  brow 

Soft  reflection's  hand  can  trace ; 
And  o'er  the  cheek  of  sorrow  throw 

A  melancholy  grace ; 
While  hope  prolongs  our  happier  hour 
Or  deepest  shades,  that  dimly  lour, 
And  blacken  round  our  weary  way, 
Grilds  with  a  gleam  of  distant  day. 

Still,  where  rosy  pleasure  leads, 

See  a  kindred  grief  pursue ; 
Behind  the  steps  that  misery  treads. 

Approaching  comfort  view : 
The  hues  of  bliss  more  brightly  glow, 
Chastised  by  sabler  tints  of  woe ; 


184  OK    VICISSITUDE. 

And  blended  form,  with  artful  strife, 
The  strength  and  harmony  of  life. 

See  the  wretch,  that  long  has  toss'd 

On  the  thorny  bed  of  pain. 
At  length  repair  his  vigor  lost. 
And  breathe  and  walk  again  : 
The  meanest  floweret  of  the  vale, 
The  simplest  note  that  swells  the  gale. 
The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies. 
To  him  are  opening  paradise. 

Humble  quiet  builds  her  cell. 

Near  the  source  whence  pleasure  flows; 
She  eyes  the  clear  crystalline  well, 

And  tastes  it  as  it  goes. 
"While"  far  below  the  "madding"  crowd 
"Rush  headlong  to  the  dangerous  flood," 
Where  broad  and  turbulent  it  sweeps, 
"And"  perish  in  the  boundless  deeps. 


ON    VICISSITUDE.  185 

Mark  where  indolence,  and  pride, 

"  Soothed  by  flattery's  tinkling  sound," 

Go,  softly  rolling,  side  by  side, 
Their  dull  but  daily  round : 

"  To  these,  if  Hebe's  self  should  bring 

The  purest  cup  from  pleasure's  spring. 

Say,  can  they  taste  the  flavor  high 

Of  sober,  simple,  genuine  joy? 

"Mark  ambition's  march  sublime 

Up  to  power's  meridian  height ; 
While  pale-eyed  envy  sees  him  climb. 

And  sickens  at  the  sight. 
Phantoms  of  danger,  death,  and  dread. 
Float  hourly  round  ambition's  head ; 
While  spleen,  within  his  rival's  breast^ 
Sits  brooding  on  her  scorpion  nest. 

"  Happier  he,  the  peasant,  far. 

From  the  pangs  of  passion  free, 
16* 


186  ON    VICISSITUDE. 

That  breathes  the  keen  yet  wholesome  air 

Of  rugged  penury. 
He,  when  his  morning  task  is  done, 
Can  slumber  in  the  noontide  sun  ; 
And  hie  him  home,  at  evening's  close, 
To  sweet  repast,  and  calm  repose. 

"  He,  unconscious  whence  the  bliss, 

Feels,  and  owns  in  carols  rude, 
That  all  the  circling  joys  are  his, 

Of  dear  Vicissitude. 
From  toil  he  wins  his  spirits  light, 
From  busy  day  the  peaceful  night ; 
Rich,  from  the  very  want  of  wealth, 
In  heaven's  best  treasures,  peace  and  health." 


jfv"! 


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